Yes, That's My Real Name
by VampPhan
Summary: Modern. Jehan is just trying to have fun, Esmeralda just wants enough money to get by, Clopin wants revenge, and Claude, of course, has no idea what he wants.
1. La Pomme d'Eve

**AN: A few explanations before I embarrass myself too much. This is not to be taken too terribly seriously, though it is not a parody. It's modern, and based pretty much entirely on the original novel, except for the character of Esmeralda (whom many can agree, is extremely dense and annoying in the book, and would never exist in a less sexist time period like today, so honestly, she's like the Disney version. This was inspired by a joke ABOUT the Disney version, so there you go.) Other than that, only a few details changed so as to fit the situation of the time period, or not overload the plot. **

**Chapter One**

Jehan Frollo was enjoying himself immensely. Not because he was sixteen and having a few drinks with college age friends—he'd been doing that for years. No, tonight he was tagging along with them to _La Pomme d'Eve_—an exotic bar (or more bluntly, a strip club.) He had finally saved up enough cash (courtesy of those who left their lockers rigged or cars unlocked) to buy a fake I.D. from a friend of a friend. Sure, he could just wait two more years…but Jehan was more of the "live fast, die young" variety.

"Hurry up in there!"

"What are you even doing?"

In the bathroom of his friend Philippe's apartment, Jehan quit dousing himself in cologne for a moment to call back, "Just a minute!"

"You do realize strippers don't care about your looks, right?" scoffed Marc, who was already counting up his small bills on the couch.

"Can't hurt. I'm broke now! Looks are all I have," said Jehan. Grimacing at his rather effeminate curly blonde hair, he added, "Hey Philippe! Your girlfriend won't mind if I use her straightener, will she?"

"What? Yes!"

"Too late."

"And you're gay."

Jehan just snickered. About an hour later, he emerged, looking successfully older but reeking of cheap cologne. After a few shoves and remarks for taking so long, the boys were on their way.

"Hey what happened to that retarded brother of yours? I haven't seen him in the neighborhood in months," asked Marc.

"He's NOT my brother," Jehan snapped.

"Who are we talking about?" asked Michael, the one driving. Jehan sighed.

"He's just this kid with problems my brilliant brother decided to pretty much adopt a few years ago."  
"Problems? Like anger issues?"

"No, he's just really slow. He's like twelve and can't even read," said Jehan boredly.

"Or understand when he's being insulted," said Philippe. "You have to see him, Michael. It's unreal how he looks."

"Yeah, we all get a good laugh when we do find him," Marc grinned. "We'll show you sometime."

By the time Jehan had cracked open another beer, the van pulled into the parking lot of _La Pomme d'Eve. _It took a lot to intimidate Jehan, but the huge bouncer checking for I.D's did a good job of it. When it was his turn, he could hardly tell if it was the thumping music from inside, or his own pulse pounding in his ears. But the moment he was allowed through, his entire demeanor changed, and he strutted in with a painfully exaggerated swagger. Marc, Philippe, and Michael were already inside meeting up with some friends of Marc's, whom Jehan had never met before. The youngest joined in, and was promptly ignored. Normally, not being the center of attention would put a serious damper on his mood, but seeing as he was surrounded by alcohol and nearly naked women, he couldn't complain.

"How exactly is this joint any better than the others?" Philippe asked the guys at their table, unimpressed. An unusually attractive blonde man with a cocky grin answered him.

"This one knows how to put on a show."

About as soon as he said this, a small center stage lit up and three girls emerged from behind a red sequined curtain. They held batons, and before Jehan or anyone else could blink, the ends of the batons were on fire and being tossed and skillfully twirled by the girls. Every so often they would slow down and saunter up to those waving cash to collect.

"What? They're getting that much without even doing lapdances?" Jehan snorted after watching for a while. His question, however, was ignored, as everyone at the table was busy getting out their wallets.

The fire twirlers soon disappeared, and the place became a normal strip club for about twenty minutes before a pair of contortionists came onstage. Another break, another act, repeat. And still, poor, penniless Jehan hadn't gotten a single dancer to look at him. Just when he figured he'd just come back later when he had money, his attention was caught by the next performer. The only solo act.

On the stage stood an absurdly beautiful girl, in typical stringy stripper attire. However, a scarlet gauze skirt hung from her hips, gold bracelets adorned her arms and one ankle, and rather than wearing heels, she was barefoot. The reason for this was explained a moment later when she began to dance—no ordinary pole dance. Her feet moved so rapidly no eyes could keep up, and her arms twirled around her body to the fast paced, sensual music. Suddenly, she leaped from the center stage to a nearby pole, twirled around it with a teasing smile, and allowed the money to collect in the red top she wore. Again, she jumped to one pole after another, sometimes doing a split, cartwheel, or other particularly difficult acrobatic feat, all while dancing as if she truly enjoyed it.

At last she was at Jehan's table, with all of her dark exposed skin so close to each one of the men, but never touching unless it was to receive money. Finally, she slinked up to Jehan, all with a perfect act of desire, until she fixed her eyes on his face.

They recognized eachother.

This only stopped her for a moment before she continued the act, slipping away from him as if he was never there.

When at last she returned to the center stage, a twirling vision of curves and dark hair, she raised her arm, dropped something, and instantly a small cloud of bright fuchsia smoke engulfed her. When it faded, she was gone.

"Um…Jehan…your brother's here."

Jehan's head snapped around in sudden horror. At first he didn't see anything and thought Marc was just being a tool. Then he spotted the tall figure, standing like a statue in the back, staring at the spot where the girl had just disappeared.

"Get under the table!"

"Throw your jackets over him!"

Once he was covered, Jehan hissed, "Can you see me, guys?"

"Yep. You're screwed, man."

Before he could jump up and make a desperate attempt to dash out of the building, he saw a pair of black polished shoes approach the table. Soon after, the familiar cold voice spoke.

"You wouldn't happen to have seen my brother, now would you?"

It was less of a polite question and more of a demand to give it up. But Jehan's friends weren't the type to betray a friend—or rather, pass up on a chance to mock someone respectable.

"What are you doing at such a place of godlessness, Father?"

"Ah yeah, the nunnery is on the OTHER side of town."  
"Or have you finally discovered a thing called fun?"

The icy voice snapped, "Shut up and tell me where he is."

"I don't know!"

"Maybe you should get one of those microchips for dogs for him. I mean, you already have him on a two foot leash…"

Jehan heard something suspiciously similar to the sound of someone being backhanded before one of those polished shoes collided sharply with his skull. The moment he yelped, he was dragged out from under the table by his shirt collar. Any hope of dignity was lost now. Not only were his own friends snickering at him, other men and even a couple of dancers had noticed the whole scene. Soon they were approached by a bouncer.

"Is there a problem, sir?"  
"Not at all. I'm just taking this brat home," said the older brother before continuing to drag Jehan out of the establishment. Once in the parking lot, Jehan's anger overcame his humiliation.

"Claude. Why are you such a bastard?"

"Why are you such a delinquent?"

"How did you even know I was—"

"You left your laptop up. With all your little messages and plans," mused Claude. "Not the cleverest move you've made. Ah, which reminds me. Give me that fake I.D."

"NO!"

"Hand it over or I'm turning you into the police for it."

Jehan tensed up and spat, "You always say that!"

"I always mean it."  
A moment of silent hatred passed before Jehan violently flung the card at his brother, who caught it effortlessly.

"Thanks."

"Go to hell!"

"That's what I'm trying to save you from, Jehan…"

"Yeah, I have a question."  
"What."

"Are YOU going to be there?"

"Hopefully not…" said Claude after a moment's hesitation.

"Then in that case, it will be heaven."

Claude sighed and unlocked his car, motioning to Jehan. "Get in."

Muttering a few more curses, Jehan did so.

"Listen, why do you think I always end up doing this?" the older one finally asked once he had pulled out onto the main road, heading home.

"Because you're an evil prick, that's why."  
"Do NOT push me, Jehan."

"Whatever…" the younger muttered.

"I do this because I care, even if you don't."

"I'm sure you and every other parental figure who says that genuinely means it," Jehan scoffed.

"I'm afraid for you on so many levels. Don't you understand? I'm afraid of you getting hurt, or going to prison, never making anything out of your life. I'm afraid of finding you dead one day! And then your soul…"

Jehan laughed coldly. "Yeah, boobs are totally sending me straight to hell."

"Shut up and listen! It leads to worse things. Desensitizing yourself like that changes how you view everything. Things like that make you see pawns, not people. This, for example, could lead you to always think the only pleasure with women has to be sexual, and you'd end up being a promiscuous, lonely cad."

"Bit late for that."

Claude stared at Jehan in a moment of shock before forcing his eyes back on the road. Jehan smirked.

"Sorry I'm not a blushing virgin like you, brother. "

There was a long, icy silence. The younger decided to push him further.

"How exactly do you live? I've always wondered and you've never explained."

Claude gritted his teeth.

"I don't have to. It's simple. I'm a priest, I'm celibate, end of story."

"Doesn't explain how you aren't completely insane from 36 years of virginity. Don't most of your friends start raping altar boys at this—"

The car screeched to the side of the road and Jehan found himself flung onto the ground before he even knew his door was open. As he stumbled to his feet, the door shut again and the car drove away, kicking up dust from the gravel. Backing up quickly and coughing, Jehan glared at the disappearing car in rage and began screaming an endless stream of curses at his long gone brother.

"I'm back."

Claude never knew why he announced his presence at home like this—Jehan didn't care when he was home and his other dependent was deaf. But the latter did tend to watch from his window until his savior came home, so he usually came down to greet him anyway.

"Hello Quasimodo."

Quasimodo answered with a grotesque grin. The reason for his name being as odd as his malformed appearance was that when Claude found him, all the child really knew about himself was that he was born on Quasimodo Sunday. When he spoke, it was with difficulty, and he explained that his mother often boxed his ears and made him deaf. After that, she finally dropped him off at the cathedral and left town. It was in the bell tower where Claude found him playing. Always one to obey moral obligations, and the law, Claude went through the whole messy trouble of becoming the child's legal guardian. At first, to avoid Quasimodo being mocked, Claude attempted homeschooling. However, as Quasimodo was hardly able to learn anything, aside from the useful skill of reading lips, Claude finally allowed the public school system to take care of the boy.

"W-where is Jehan?" Quasimodo asked hesitantly. He was answered by a reluctant sigh.

"He is learning a lesson. He probably won't come home tonight."

This didn't seem to bother Quasimodo too much. When Claude wasn't looking, Jehan used to torment him. Now, he mostly ignored the child, but Jehan's friends would still tease him if he ever went out in public. So, Quasimodo made himself content at home.

"What did he do?" he asked, following Claude upstairs. The priest didn't answer and entered Jehan's room, starting to rummage through drawers in silence.

"Oh…did you catch him with that green stuff again?" the child asked innocently.

"No. He was…having a bit too much fun with women," Claude answered in an annoyed tone, finally finding what he was looking for: a yearbook. He made himself comfortable on Jehan's bed and started to nonchalantly flip through the annual, dark eyes searching.

"What are you looking for, sir?"

"Nothing. Go fix dinner or something."

"What would you like?"

"Surprise me."

Obedient as always, Quasimodo hobbled away, leaving Claude alone in peace with the book. At last, he found the very face he'd been looking for in last year's senior class: Esmeralda Trouillefou.

_I KNEW she looked familiar._

For a moment, he just gazed at the photo as he had gazed at the actual, live girl at _La Pomme d'Eve. _Soon, he snapped out of it and grimaced.

_Barely old enough to even work at that disgusting place…_

Curiosity egged him on and he searched for her in the rest of the yearbook. Sure enough, he eventually found she had been captain of the school's dance team.

_Shocking, _he thought sarcastically. _What a waste._

Without another thought, he snapped the book shut and went downstairs to see what monstrosity of a meal Quasimodo had made for him.


	2. Bringing the Party To You

**Chapter Two**

"Open up, Philippe!"  
"Huh?"

The apartment door opened and Philippe took in the sight of a very disheveled, pissed off Jehan.

"Can I crash here tonight?"

"I thought your brother took you—"

"He threw me out of the damn car, ok? It was either walk three miles home or walk two here," snapped Jehan.

"Yeah, come on in, man," said Philippe, stepping back.

"Hey Jehan—oh my god, what happened to you?"

Philippe's girlfriend, Claire, was home.

"Long story…" Jehan muttered, flopping on the couch with an exhausted sigh. "Got a beer?"

Philippe went to the refrigerator and tossed him one. "Here."

"Thanks."

The other two came back to the small den.

"Why did he throw you out of the car?" asked Philippe.

Pushing his hair out of his eyes and taking a sip of beer, Jehan snapped, "Because he's a dick. He took my ID too."

Glancing up, he saw they were still waiting on a real answer. He gave in.

"Ok, ok, he was doing his typical religious rant about why I'm going to Hell, so I started making fun of him for being a virgin. So he threw me out and drove off. Happy?"

"Wait…he's seriously a virgin?" Claire asked incredulously.

"Well yeah, it's kind of in the job description of being a Catholic priest", Philippe explained in a mutter. She gave him a sharp look.

"I knew that, but I didn't think any of them actually followed through," she snorted. "Well, that explains why he's so damn uptight."

"I wish he had stayed longer at the club. I bet his reaction to a lapdance would be hysterical," Philippe mused.

At this, a wicked smile spread across Jehan's face.

"What if…we bring the club to him?"

"Huh?"

"Like I send a stripper home. As payback."

"How would giving your brother a stripper be payback?" Claire asked dubiously. Jehan rolled his eyes.

"Because at the very least, he has to deal with getting her out of the house, but at best, he enjoys it, blows all his money on her, then beats himself up over it for days. And I get to remind him of this little incident for the rest of his life."

"That's awful."

"But hilarious."

"But how do we get to enjoy his reaction?" Philippe asked. Jehan thought a moment.

"I can set up the laptop to record it without him even knowing. Easy."

The couple looked at eachother for a moment before nodding in agreement.

"Which stripper though?" Philippe asked, and Jehan gave him a dull look.

"I don't know their names!"

"Maybe the fire twirlers!"

"I don't want my house burned down, thanks," muttered the blonde. "Wait. What about the one who danced last? I know her—sort of."

"What?"  
"She graduated last year. I'm trying to remember her name. It sounded like a stripper name. Spanish though."

"Esmeralda?" Philippe suggested.

"That's it!"

"The DJ said it. It was kind of hard to hear though. I'll see if they have a number then ask for her."

Claire had a look of mild disapproval but allowed the boys to madly search through the phonebook for the strip club's number. At last, they found it. Philippe dialed the number and put it on speaker, leaning against the wall coolly.

"Hello, _La Pomme d'Eve, _what can we do for you?" an overly eager female voice answered.

"Is Esmenarda—"

"Esmeralda, dolt!" Jehan hissed.

"Sorry, _Esmeralda _still there?"

"Hm, let me see…oh! She's just leaving, hold on!"

The boys waited in anticipation until a smoky, slightly tired voice answered, "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Esmeralda?" Philippe asked.

"Yeah."

"Do you do house calls?"

"Um, no. I don't like the idea of being sliced up by some psychopath."

"Let me talk to her," Jehan sighed and took the phone. "Hey listen, it's Jehan, you went to my school last year…"

"Oh yeah, saw you a few hours ago, didn't I? Underage, _and _you didn't tip."

He flushed slightly at this but continued, "Sorry, I was broke. You can trust me, ok. I need you for my brother. He will pay you _generously." _

"Why won't he come here himself then? Is he thirteen years old too?" she snorted.

'_Rude bitch', _Jehan mouthed to Philippe, who snickered, before the blonde went back to the phone conversation.

"No, it's a surprise for him…his uh…birthday."

"Hm...well that would require payment on your part and you just said you're broke, so…"

"Wait!" Philippe interjected, taking the phone back. "I'm his friend, I'll pay. Fifty dollars before you even walk in the door."

"How about a hundred?" Esmeralda purred sweetly.

"Seventy five, that's it. Just come, okay?"

She went back to her normal, impatient tone. "Fine, where do you freaks live?"

"601 Rue Tirechappe," Jehan answered.

"On my way."

/

"Pay me back, or I'll wring your neck," Philippe warned after handing Jehan the money and pulling up in front of the dark, elegant house.

"Yeah, I know…" Jehan said, getting out.

"And set up the camera!" Claire chimed in.

"I will, I will!"

The couple drove away and Jehan slinked up to the door of his home, feeling as tense as he had when he was approaching the bouncer in line at the club. By the time he reached the door, however, it was already open and Claude was standing there, looking down at him in bitter, condescending amusement.

"Come home after all?"

Jehan shoved past him and went straight upstairs. To his relief, he wasn't followed. Immediately, he set up the laptop camera to record, then snuck downstairs. Peering into the darkness of the den, he was happy to see his brother was not there, and set down the laptop on the small table beside the couch, giving the camera a devious grin before sneaking to the front door to wait. He overheard the sound of the TV in the master bedroom—most likely some dry history program.

_What if she recognizes him, too?, _he thought in a panic. _Nah, strippers don't go to church. And even if they did, I'm sure she's thrilled enough priests in her time. _

The doorbell rang. In a flash, Jehan rushed to the door, turned the silver knob, and thrust out the handful of money. The dancer, now in a long black coat and heels, looked at him with a small smirk.

"Well. That was fast," she said, stuffing the money in her pocket. Jehan glanced at her bare legs and started to wonder what was under the coat.

"Who's at the door?" Claude called irritably, emerging from his bedroom. At the same time, Esmeralda went ahead and invited herself in, closing the door behind her.

"Nice place," she mused casually before strutting past the bewildered older man into the den.

"Is that the—Jehan! What did you do?!"

The blonde grinned innocently. "Happy early birthday, brother."

Claude stared at him in horror then stormed into the living room.

"Okay, what's going on—"

The long coat had been thrown over a lamp in a corner and the dancer was now stretched out on the sofa in nothing but dark green lingerie.

"Oh. My...God!" Jehan gasped to himself, trying to stop from bursting out into hysterical laughter. Knowing Claude was more likely to react if no one was watching, Jehan quickly ran upstairs, knowing the camera would catch it all.

The priest stood rigidly, almost as if in pain.

"So. Are you a prostitute as well?" he finally choked out after staring for what seemed like forever.

"No," said Esmeralda, looking insulted. "You've seen me before?"

"Just tonight before I dragged my good for nothing brother out of that place," Claude snapped, regaining his authority for the moment. "Look, you need to leave, I—"

"Are you married?"

"What? No," said Claude, confused again.

"Girlfriend, then?"

"No. What does this have to do with anything?"

Esmeralda stood up and approached him slowly. When she was inches away from him (almost at eye level in heels) he stopped breathing.

"Then what is the problem, hm?" she asked sweetly.

"I…um…" he wanted to say why, but somehow couldn't. So instead he asked, "Are you going to rob me?"

She chuckled. "It would be robbing only if it weren't worth your money."

Jehan, meanwhile, crept halfway down the stairs to sneak a few peeks at the action, driven mad with curiosity.

"So. Like what you saw at the club?" the girl asked, literally backing her 'customer' against the wall.

"This isn't happening."

"Strange answer….I'll take it as a yes," she giggled, spotting a stereo near the T.V. Walking over to it quickly, she bent over to turn it on, flipping to find a station she approved of. Both brothers enjoyed the view. When she found a song with a good beat, she stepped back, starting to dance as she had on stage (minus the acrobatic tricks.) Eyes closed, with a slight smile, it looked as if she was dancing alone for the sheer fun of it. Soon, however, she remembered why she was here and resumed her mask of seduction, sauntering up to Claude with her usual show of actually wanting the man she 'performed' for. He fell for it.

"Why is a man like you all alone?" she asked in a low voice. A typical question to ask in her profession—lots of men came to strip clubs thinking they wanted the obvious, when they actually just wanted someone to talk to. Mostly about divorce or ex-girlfriends.

"I've always been alone," he answered.

That wasn't expected. Too honest. "Always?"

Now she was genuinely interested. Pushing him back on the couch, she placed one knee on either side of him and sank down slowly into a straddling position. Still breathing shakily, he was having trouble keeping his eyes off her breasts, which happened to be rather close to his face.

"You can look," she laughed, noticing this. With this permission, he stared shamelessly. Starting to move her hips over his, she waited until she heard a soft groan to ask the hardest question.

"What are you going to pay me?"

"Mm…whatever you want."

_Probably around a hundred or so. This is my lucky night, _she thought with a satisfied smile. Her hips moved a little faster and she snaked her arms around Claude's neck. Compared to most older guys she had danced for, this one actually wasn't too bad looking.

"What's your name?" she asked quietly.

He sighed as if he didn't want to say it. "Claude."

"Hm. Nice to meet you," she automatically responded, adding another roll of her hips. He looked up at her face with that mellow, almost drunk expression of desire she'd seen so many times.

"You have beautiful eyes."

Again, she tried not to laugh. "Thank you."

His gaze shifted down to her lips and her smile faded. She had a few friends at _La Pomme d'Eve _who did kissing. She never did. In fact, lap dances were rare for her, unless she needed extra money. Until now, no customer of hers had ever really shown any desire for something personal like that.

_But if it means I get paid more…always please the customer, right?_ thought the dancer, momentarily hesitating to muster up the courage to go for it. She started to lean in, but stopped. An irritated voice snapped in her head, _What's wrong with you? It's just a kiss, you've done worse!_

And yet it still felt as if there was a barrier of paralyzing fear between her and this shaky, nervous man, preventing her from giving him what he wanted. Something about this—or him-was too strange. He had to be about twice her age yet his expression strongly reminded her of a certain memory: the moments just before she had given a boy his first kiss.

Deciding to distract him from this little disappointment , she brought him back to reality by reaching in his pocket—for his wallet.

"How much do I get?" she asked, flipping through the bills.

"All of it. Just stay."

Her jade eyes widened. "Er…how long?"

Hesitating, he quietly asked, "Can you do all night?"

She immediately got up and distanced herself from him. "I told you, I'm not a prostitute…"

"Just stay the night, you don't have to do anything else, I'll pay whatever you want, just—"

Before Esmeralda could become anymore disturbed, Claude's desperate plea was interrupted by Jehan's unmistakable laughter. Spotting his shadowed outline on the staircase, Claude charged straight towards his brother in a rage. Jehan scrambled up the stairs and rushed to his room, almost shutting the door before Claude forced his way in, grabbing Jehan by the shirt collar.

"Why did you do this to me?! Why?! I swear to God, I am going to _kill _you for this—"

The front door closed. Esmeralda was gone.

Claude's grip loosened, then he dropped his arm, backing away from the terrified boy. He tried to say something, but couldn't, and just retreated back downstairs to his room in a cold silence.

About an hour later, Jehan was brave enough to fetch his laptop and stop the recording.


	3. Excuse me?

Author's Note: Oh hey. People are reading this. I didn't know. Thank you so much for doing so, it really means a lot.

**Chapter 3**

As expected, Jehan received grand reviews from Philippe and Claire after he sent a cleanly cut version of the previous night's events via the internet. He was planning on posting it immediately to Youtube, but wisely, Philippe suggested he use the video as blackmail instead, if necessary.

Later, he invited himself to lunch with his usual crew. A bit begrudgingly, Philippe picked him up. Since his own brother was too ashamed to even look at Jehan, let alone speak to him, the boy escaped the house without reproach.

"Thank God, I was suffocating in there with all that silence!" Jehan sighed once in the car. Philippe gave a small nod of recognition and turned up the radio. At that point Jehan realized how much he was being ignored. The only difference between being in his own house and riding in Philippe's car was the heavy metal blasting from the stereo.

Once at the restaurant, they found Marc and Michael already sitting at a booth, laughing and drinking with someone that Jehan did not recognize until he was sitting across from him.

"Look, it's the guy with the endless wallet from last night," Philippe grinned, greeting the blonde man jokingly.

"Who are you again?" Jehan had to ask. The blonde looked at him carelessly before answering.

"Phoebus."

"Seriously? That's your name?"

"Seriously."

Jehan snickered. "Nice."

"Well what's yours?" asked Phoebus with a hint of a challenging tone.

"Jehan."

"Nice name yourself."

The younger of the blondes paused a moment to think this over then shrugged admittedly. "True."

With this simple exchange, Jehan figured he might approve of this guy.

A waitress's apron approached the table out of the corner of his eye, and soon everyone at the booth was staring up at her with a mixture of shock and amusement.

"Well what do you know, it's the stripper," Jehan said with a sharp laugh.

"And the underage douchebag," Esmeralda retorted dryly before boredly turning to the others to ask, "Can I take your order?"

"Yes, two lapdances please," Michael said with a snide smirk.

Before Esmeralda could promptly throw his drink in his face, Phoebus smoothly intervened, looking at Michael sternly.

"She could be struggling with money right now. Dancer or not, she's still a lady. Have some respect."

Michael glared at him in annoyance but said nothing. Esmeralda hesitated before muttering a small 'thanks' and repeating her mandatory question of asking for their orders. This time they all responded seriously and the girl disappeared into the kitchens.

"You are so full of it, man," Marc said, looking at Phoebus in a contradicting, admiring sort of way. The blonde shrugged.

"What can I say, the girl is hot."

From then on, every guy at the table (aside from Philippe, who was being watched closely by Claire) found one lame excuse or another to have Esmeralda come back to their table, whether it was to refill drinks that they had purposefully gulped down quickly, or to clean up an 'accidental' spill which Michael and Marc caused. Every time, her expression grew more and more disgusted.

By the time they got their food, Jehan was almost afraid to eat it in fear that she had poisoned them all.

However, they all managed to survive it and tipped her generously. Phoebus gave her a twenty. As they were about to leave, Esmeralda once again surprised them by calling out for Jehan.

"Hey you. Jehan. I need to talk to you."

"Ooh…" said the other overgrown boys with mischievous grins as they chuckled and reluctantly left the building.

"How can I be of service, m'lady?" Jehan asked her smugly once his friends had left. The girl rolled her vivid green eyes at this, glancing around to see if anyone was listening, then bluntly asked the question that had been on her mind since the night before.

"What the HELL is wrong with your brother?"

Jehan hesitated then laughed. "You know, I've been asking myself that for a long time…"

"Seriously. I can tell when a guy is deprived, but usually they're of a younger, chubbier, more acne riddled breed. But he was the worst case I've ever seen. Why? I mean, I doubt it's looks."

At this strange comment, Jehan grimaced. "Wait, you think he's attractive?"

"No! That's not what I meant, I just…ugh. I'm just saying it's not like he's deformed or something. No, he's a bit too old for me, thanks," she mused, crossing her arms indignantly. "So. You going to tell me why you set him up like that?"

"Sure. It was for revenge. He humiliated me, so I humiliated him."

Esmeralda blinked. "Not to sound vain, but…don't you think giving a man a stripper is more like a reward than revenge?"

"Not in his case. As you guessed, he's kind of the patron saint of virginity. And as you saw, he had no idea what to do with you."

"But why, I mean you still didn't answer my—"

"He's a priest, okay?" Jehan sighed in exasperation. "Such a damn curiosity you got."

Esmeralda ignored this little jab as she was busy pushing down the sickening feeling building up in her stomach.

"You tricked me into performing for a _priest_."

"I'm sure you do something like that every night and don't even know it, come on…"

"Not to one who's actually serious about his job! Ugh…" she shuddered, turning away and muttering something about going to hell.

Jehan rolled his eyes. "You sounded like him, just then."

"He does know that was all just an act, right?" she asked worriedly, looking back at Jehan.

"As much as I hate him, he's not stupid. Yeah, I think he kinda figured that out for himself," he retorted back dryly.

"Ok…good. Well, he never tipped, so…tell him he owes me."

At this, the blonde snorted. "Really? I thought you felt like he suffered enough."

"I need the money."

"Can I ask you something?"

Like most people who are asked this question, she visibly tensed up with dread, answering automatically, "Sure."

"Why so desperate? Why be a stripper and a waitress and who knows how many other jobs? I mean, you could probably interview anywhere and get the job based on looks if you wanted to."

For a moment, her features softened at the offhand compliment, but quickly she resumed glaring at him. "Just those two jobs. I don't have qualifications for anything better and-well, none of this is even your business anyway."

"Got a crack addiction?" Jehan pushed on impishly.

"No!" she snapped. "I'm poor and so is my family! Jobs like these are how we get by. I'm used to it, and I find nothing wrong with it, okay, so just _back. OFF._"

Her voice had raised to the point that other people in the restaurant turned around to witness the scene. Noticing this, Esmeralda flushed and took a deep breath, pushing her hair back then returning to look at Jehan with a forced calmness. He had already taken a step back.

"Okay, okay….sorry."

She hesitated then sighed. "It's fine. Look, I have to get back to work, so…"

"When do you get off?"

She gave him a cold look that clearly said 'Are you serious?' before showing a glimpse of a half smile.

"Don't hold your breath."


	4. Small world, isn't it?

**Chapter 4**

"So how much did you make tonight?"

Esmeralda exhaled slowly, not wanting to say. "About two hundred. Not much."

"Not much? You're doing a hell of a lot better than either of us," said Pierre Gringoire, her roommate. He looked impressed as he glanced at Clopin, who nodded in agreement.

"Swindling people with fortune telling ain't what it used to be. People aren't buying into the old stereotypes anymore."

"Or into the simple fact that you can't read people for shit," Gringoire muttered. Clopin tried to shoot him a warning look, but the intensity of this glare was much hindered by the fact that he was halfway through chewing a sesame seed bagel. Pierre grinned and turned back to Esmeralda, who was sitting on the same rugged couch, boredly flipping channels on the small T.V.

"So, had any interesting customers recently?"

She hesitated. "Uh….no, not really."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah whatever. Come on, the weirdest kinds of people go to strip clubs. I've been to one. Once."

"ONCE," Clopin echoed with a small laugh.

"The weird guys kind of canceled out the hot girls," Pierre noted.

"True enough. Well fine, but what happened was more strange than that funny. I um…." Esmeralda hesitated, wishing Clopin wasn't paying attention as he was a very protective brother sort. But she had already started to say it. Might as well continue. "I did my first house call."

As expected, Clopin's expression became deeply concerned.

"You went to a stranger's house. To perform."

"Yes—well, no, not a complete stranger. The guy who called went to my school and is two years younger than me. I'd heard of him before anyway," she explained defensively. "I'm not a complete idiot."

"So you danced for someone underage then? Not that I much disapprove, really, but I think that could kind of get you into trouble…" Clopin continued seriously.

"No, no, not for him, it was for his older brother. But uh…that really wasn't much better."

Now both Pierre and Clopin were intensely interested, urging her to go on. Explaining it was harder than she expected.

"As it turns out, his little brother was getting some petty revenge on him by sending him a stripper. Apparently, it worked, because the whole time, the guy was almost scared of me, like he'd never seen a female before in his life. And after that shock wore off, he flipped extremes and got too close for comfort…"

"Wait what, did he hurt you?" Clopin cut in immediately.

"No, no, he just…" she trailed off, biting her lip. "Ok, some of my friends at the bar will kiss for more money, you know for the guys who are especially lonely. I almost tried it with him since he kept looking at my mouth but…I don't know. It was weird. I couldn't do it. But after that, he was begging me to stay the night, even if I didn't do anything else, and then he caught his brother laughing at us and….well then I heard him screaming upstairs and I just left while I could," she paused a moment, glancing at their expressions.

"Well what kind of screaming, like just brothers in an argument or like someone getting stabbed?" Pierre asked in confusion.

"Just sounded like the older one screaming at the younger. Very one sided."

"Ah. Well, that makes sense then."

"Anyway. It doesn't stop there," she continued, now interested in her own story. "Today I meet the little brother—his name is Jehan, by the way—at my other job and his friends are all being assholes…except this one gorgeous guy who defended me….but I ask Jehan to stay and explain last night to me. Like why he did that to his brother and what the hell was wrong with him…"

"Comic book store owner. That's my bet. They think women are a different species," Pierre guessed in an amused tone.

"Married?" Clopin suggested in a more reasonable assumption.

"Nope to both," Esmeralda said, the small grin she had at their guesses slowly fading away as she finally decided to tell them. "He's a priest."

"What?"

"Yeah. And neither of them thought it would be a good idea to tell me. Bastards….I feel so disgusting…"

Pierre cut in, holding up a hand defensively. "Well, I think I could speak for all mankind here in saying that I don't think anyone would admit to any reason that you _shouldn't_ be uh, 'servicing' them, if you were already planning on it."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh please. Stop."

"Have you SEEN you?"

"Alright, alright, fine, but still…it doesn't make the situation any better," she insisted, glancing away from them. "I almost feel sorry for him now. Except he never tipped, so…"

"What's his name? The older one, I mean," Clopin asked suddenly.

"Why?"

"I might know him," he shrugged. "I'd also like to internet stalk the unfortunate victim of my dear sister's charms…and possibly track down where he lives and egg his house for it."

Laughing a little at this, she answered, "Last name is Frollo. I might have asked his first name to ease the tension and I think it was Claude but I'm not sure—"

"Oh my God."

"What?" Pierre and Esmeralda asked instantly in unison as Clopin burst out laughing.

"That man…THAT man…oh wow…."

"For Christ sakes, Clopin, tell us!" Gringoire snapped impatiently.

The other man tried to restrain his giggling and calmed down enough to say, "Alright, me and Esme's parents, alright….they made me go to church almost nonstop from the time I was about six or seven till I graduated high school. They thought it would help me not be such a delinquent—ha! But it was also kind of a form of daycare…"

"Yeah, I remember I tagged along a lot. I was really little though…" Esmeralda recalled.

"You only had to come to Mass though. They sent me to youth things and counseling and all sorts of stupid crap to keep me out of trouble. Well, at first it wasn't so bad, I mostly got naïve young teachers or senile old bats who never knew what I got up to, let alone punish me for it, but when I was about…hm…fourteen or fifteen maybe? God…well, your priest showed up and he made my life hell."

At the finally connection, Esmeralda's eyes lit up. "Really? What did he do?"

"He was there all the time, out of nowhere. His superiors loved him, I guess. He started with youth—everyone could tell he hated it—but then he did counseling. I was forced to go. Constantly confessing and repenting and…ugh, it was ridiculous. Well, you know me, I just tormented him right back, being a smartass and playing pranks and such…well he could easily figure it all out and everytime, he'd tell my parents. Sometimes even when something bad happened and I wasn't the cause of it. Then he fancied himself some sort of school principal and kept me late to copy Bible verses. Seriously. Like an entire book of it. And my parents just applauded him for it."

"I don't remember you ever ranting about this…." Esmeralda said, still in shock.

"Yeah, well, I tried to forget about it as soon as I got home. Oh yeah, eventually, he got to do some preaching himself. I doubt you remember, you always fell asleep way before the actual sermon…but when he preached, he'd find some subtle little way to jab at me. Or not so subtle. Like if I recently got in trouble for, say, stealing, he'd just happen to have a sermon all about that sin and glare at me the whole time. Let's just say I couldn't have been happier when I graduated."

"Poor, poor Clopin," Gringoire cooed mockingly. Clopin frowned.

"Yes poor me!"

Esmeralda readjusted herself to a more upright position on the couch to take a drink of her soda. "Hm…small world…"

Gringoire's attention resumed itself back on her. "So how disgusting was it? You know…doing your job?"

She shrugged. "I've had worse. Much worse, really. You get used to it, you know. It's not personal, it's just a job. I mostly try not to look at them if they're particularly unattractive."

"I haven't seen the guy in years," Clopin commented nonchalantly. Then his eyes lit up hopefully. "Oh please tell me he's all gross and fat now."

She shook her head. "Actually, if anything, he's far too thin."

"Bah. He always was. You know, I don't even know this Jehan fellow and I adore him."

"What for?" she asked curiously.

"Getting back at the prick!" Clopin said, then smiled sheepishly. "Though you were an unfortunate casualty…"

Suddenly, he gasped, and she immediately cringed. He must have a bright idea…that couldn't be good.

"Esmeralda….my dear, sweet sister whom I adore ever so much…"

This DEFINITELY wasn't good.

"What do you want?" she asked bluntly. Clopin flashed an innocent smile.

"Could you take this revenge thing a little bit further, for me?"

"No! I can't believe you're asking me this. I don't even know this guy. It's not my fault everyone hates him," she snapped, crossing her arms.

"You did it for Jehan."

"Jehan PAID me."

He sighed and leaned closer, emphasizing his expression to the maximum level of pathetic helplessness. "I would pay you too, dearest, but I haven't any money…could you not simply do it out of love for your poor, unjustly treated brother?"

She paused then leaned back, sighing. "What do you want me to do?"

"Torment him! Find an excuse to be around him all the time. You don't even have to say anything. The mere presence of you should make him at least feel guilty," he explained mischievously.

"So what, hang around the cathedral all the time?" Pierre asked, skeptical.

"Or at his house…become buddies with Jehan or whatever, I don't know! Just please, please, please try? For me? It could be fun!"

Thinking about this for a moment, she weighed the odds and finally gave her brother a stern look.

"You owe me."

"Yes, yes, of course."

"Something _big."_

"Okay!"

"Like a car."

Clopin smiled weakly. "Er…how about a nice cute puppy?"

"…or a puppy."

"Okay! Done!"


	5. A second visit

(AN: Okay I hate using text speak in writing but it's kind of necessary in modern times and all so….yeah. Jehan is the only one who really overdoes it though. Because he's Jehan. And obviously, the underlined is the online or texted words.)

**Chapter 5**

Jehan was the worst at replying to social networking. Aside from going straight to his house, it was the only way Esmeralda could get in contact with him. Somehow, this seemed like a less creepy approach. He was easy enough to find online. She had sent a simple 'hey' hours ago. Finally, he responded around 3 PM.

Heyyy there beautiful ;)

"Ugh. God," she muttered. This kid screamed 'player' from a mile away. But she forced some friendly words.

Finally found you on here. What are you up to?

Again, it took forever for him to respond.

Chilling at home. Bored.

_Perfect…._she thought.

So am I. Mind if I come over?

_This is so forward. So stupid…I don't even…agh. It'll kill a few hours. At least I don't really care what this guy thinks, or else I'd—_

Please do! :D

Well. That was settled then.

On my way.

601 Rue Tirechappe was closer to her apartment than she thought. From _La Pomme d'Eve, _it had taken quite a while to find it. But in less than 10 minutes, there it was, right in front of her.

_Damn. I could have just walked. _

Approaching the dark house, she hesitated to pull up the neckline of her shirt before ringing the doorbell. As expected, there was a lot of stumbling around before someone finally answered the door.

"Hey there," greeted a very eager, grinning Jehan.

"Hey."

"Come on in!"

She stepped inside, arms wound tightly around herself. Something about this house felt heavy. Maybe it was just the strangeness of the situation.

"Ah…so…want a drink? I got your run of the mill beverages, and some booze stashed upstairs, of course," he offered in an attempt to impress her.

"I could use a drink," she sighed, heading towards the stairs. If she was going to keep up this act, she'd have to be a little buzzed.

Halfway up the stairs, however, she saw something at the top looking down at her with one eye. A yelp of surprise caught in her throat and she stumbled back instinctively. She would have tumbled down the stairs and broken her neck in an instant if Jehan had not caught her.

The thing at the top of the stairs gasped and cried, "I'm sorry!" in a strange but remorseful voice.

"Sorry about him…that's my brother's pet," muttered Jehan bitterly, then looked at Esmeralda. "You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah…just surprised," she said quickly, pulling away from the arms that caught her and getting a better look at this 'pet'.

It was, in fact, a human being, though seriously deformed, with awkward bowed legs, a misshapen, lumpy sort of face, and a large hump on his back. She could not be certain but he seemed rather young—perhaps twelve or thirteen at the most.

"What do you mean, 'pet'?" Esmeralda whispered to Jehan accusingly, not wanting to offend the boy. Jehan explained in a normal volume.

"Claude adopted him a few years ago. He adores him because he always jumps to do whatever my brother asks. He's like a little minion, basically."

Esmeralda looked back up at the boy, then at Jehan, as if to ask why he was saying that right in front of the poor kid.

"He's deaf," Jehan sighed. "Don't worry."

"I can read lips!" said the deformed child suddenly, his twisted face contorted even more so by anger.

Jehan just rolled his eyes carelessly and pushed past him on the way up to his room. Esmeralda followed hesitantly, giving an apologetic smile to the kid before entering Jehan's room.

"What's his name?"

"Quasimodo."

"Really? That's…"

"Weird, yeah, I know," the blonde said dismissively, retrieving a bottle of whiskey from under his bed. He took a swig from it then handed it to Esmeralda. She took a sip and cringed. It was obviously cheap.

"When does your brother come home?" she asked innocently.

"About five."

"Is it just you three here?"

"Yep."

Jehan collapsed on his bed. Esmeralda seated herself next to him and took another drink.

"No parents?"

"Dead."

Her eyes widened and she looked away. "Oh. I'm so sorry…"

"It's fine, it was forever ago. I barely remember them," Jehan shrugged. "What about you? Got a nice set of folks yourself?"

"Yeah um….well, they're there, they adopted me and worked constantly to pay the bills. But the one who really raised me was my brother—their son."

"Ah. Still live with them?" Jehan asked casually. She shook her head.

"No, I got my own place as soon as I hit eighteen. I didn't want to be a burden."

"Must be nice. Independence. Nobody screaming at you for your lifestyle…"

She shrugged. "Sometimes. It gets hard, every now and then though."

He nodded slowly then cracked a small grin. "You going to be a waitress/stripper forever?"

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head again. "I hope not."

"What do you want to be, then?"

"I don't know."

He sat up and glanced over her thoughtfully, studying her features. "You should be….a trophy wife."

"Oh thanks."

"No really, it's got a lot of qualifications, but you've got all of them, as far as I can tell," he said with a teasing smirk. "All you need is to find a desperate rich man."

"In my experience, rich men don't marry strippers," she responded dryly. He chuckled.

"So be a hobo. A vagabond. That's my life path, anyway."

"Admirable…"

Suddenly, the faint sound of plonking piano keys drifted up to Esmeralda's ears, making her cringe slightly.  
"What is that?"

Jehan grimaced. "Quasimodo's on this little phase right now. He found out Beethoven was deaf too, so he thinks he can also be some sort of great musician," he snorted in annoyance. "Let's drown it out, shall we?"

He leaned over to his alarm clock and switched on the radio. Some stereotypical club music was playing. Honestly, he had hoped he'd inspire his pretty guest to dance again, but she just leaned back, drinking the whiskey boredly. After a pause, he switched stations to some 70's song. This was a success, as she recognized it, and they soon got caught up in a conversation about musical preferences and bands.

The bottle of whiskey between both of them wasn't nearly enough to make Jehan hammered, but Esmeralda had definitely loosened up a bit by the time they heard the garage door raising downstairs, shaking the house slightly. A maniacal, intoxicated grin spread across her face.

"He's ho-o-ome…."

"Ugh. No…"

"Let's go say hi!"

"What? No!"

She had already jumped up and started down the stairs clumsily. Jehan quickly followed, struggling to stop her. She almost tripped again and giggled, catching herself with the rail.

"What is it with you and stairs?" Jehan muttered.

Shushing him with a little grin, she crept down and around the corner, apparently fancying herself some sort of stealth master. Jehan barely resisted slapping his palm to his forehead. He was absolutely doomed.

At that moment, a door closed and Claude appeared, still in priestly robes. He noticed Jehan standing innocently at the foot of the stairs and looked down at him suspiciously.

"I heard voices. Who's here with you?"

"Um…I…"

"Surprise!" Esmeralda emerged from her hiding place.

Surprise indeed. Claude almost jumped out of his skin.

"What the hell is she doing here again?!" he snapped sharply at Jehan, fuming.

"I stopped by earlier…" she answered for the stammering blonde, moving closer to the priest. "We've gotten to be good friends you know..."

Her gaze lazily lingered over Claude's body. "Nice robe."

"Is she drunk?" he hissed to Jehan.  
"I'm standing right here!" she said annoyedly. "And no, I'm not drunk. Are you?"

Claude groaned and leaned his forehead against his fingertips—a habitual gesture of frustration. His blood was two seconds away from a full boil. Jehan, however, was much more skilled in pretending to be stone cold sober, as he'd had much experience with acting around his brother.

"Actually, she came here this way. Just stumbled in drunk. Now, before you send her away, do consider that you'd put her in the awful predicament of driving while intoxicated…"

Catching onto Jehan's plan, Esmeralda further exaggerated her drunkenness, falling into Claude's unsuspecting arms. He barely caught her and quickly balanced her back on her feet, so fast it appeared as it touching her caused him some unseen pain. She gave him a wry little grin and licked her lips. He looked away uncomfortably.

"Get her to sleep it off, then get her out of here," he growled to Jehan before turning on his heel and retreating to the safety of his own bedroom, closing the door behind him.

"Okay, drunk girl, you heard the man. Er…go to sleep," said Jehan, awkwardly leading his guest to the sofa. She lazily pushed him away.  
"That's boring. Let's go bother him some more."

He frowned suspiciously.  
"Why do you want to irritate him so badly? You barely know him."

She sighed impatiently and in her state of mind, blurted out the secret. "I'm on a mission for my own brother, of course!"

"Your brother wants to torture mine? Seriously?"

"You're not the only junior criminal who hates him, you know…" she snickered, falling back on the couch. He shook his head in frustrated confusion.  
"What?"

She just kept giggling to herself, now toying with one of the pillows on the sofa. Jehan wasn't particularly patient or determined, so he just shrugged it off as the alcohol talking. At this point, the intoxicated duo proceeded to have interesting conversations, none of which were relevant or made any sense.

Meanwhile, Claude was trying to ignore the fact that there was yet again, a gorgeous exotic dancer in his living room. She was appearing everywhere, it seemed. And on top of that, she was vaguely familiar—that's what particularly caught his attention. Aside from the obvious. He could handle seeing a stripper. He wasn't THAT naïve. But one such as her…genuine beauty was rather rare in someone desperate enough to exploit themselves like that. From the brief venture into _La Pomme_ to find Jehan, he had seen a distant vision of what might as well have been a goddess. And later, he thought this idea might be corrected by seeing her up close and realizing flaws, but if anything, it only magnified her perfection. And on top of that, there was her genuine talent. He hadn't seen anyone else able to dance so impressively, and actually appear to enjoy it as well. There was almost something mystical about it that simply could not be explained.

Let's just say the vision lingered on the mind.

And not even three hours later, she was in his home, just doing her job supposedly, but still evoking every passion he'd buried years ago, and many he'd never even felt before. Right after she'd left, it felt like waking up out of a trance, knowing all the shameful things he had just said and done, but having no earthly idea what possessed him to do it.

_Begging for an eighteen year old stripper to spend the whole night here…God, you're pathetic, _he'd cursed himself, over and over for the rest of that night.

And now, here she was again! And perhaps he was overthinking it, but what reason could she possibly have for it now?

_Befriending Jehan? So suddenly? Even if she did show up intoxicated, I can't imagine why coming _here _would be the first thing on her mind. _

Something wasn't adding up.

A sly little voice in his head whispered, _She's still drunk, maybe you could have an encore presentation for just a little money…._

Immediately he cringed and scolded himself for even thinking like that, but found himself walking steadily back out into the living room. He felt he had no choice. Jehan and the dancer were both sprawled on the couch with the TV on. Jehan was asleep—Esmeralda was just about to drift off herself when she noticed Claude.

"Hello…" she murmured, stretching her lithe body in a way he swore was purposefully seductive. He glanced away.

"I can just drive you home, you know," he said bluntly. She yawned.

"No thanks, I like it here…"

He replied dryly, "I didn't realize you and Jehan were such good friends…"

"We aren't, really…but he is quite fun."

"Now tell me why you're really here."

She looked up at him in amusement. "Oh, you know, just to make your life a living hell, of course."

By the way he stared at her, she could tell he was not good with catching sarcasm. Rolling her eyes, she groaned and stood up.

"I was joking! If you really want me out so badly, you could have just said so…"

_I DID say so!_

"Fine, you can stay longer," he muttered reluctantly.

"Wow, how generous…" she mused. "So, did you enjoy your _free_ show?"

"Excuse me?"

"You never paid me."

He flushed. "Oh…that. Um…I didn't exactly ask for it, if you recall, and I'm certain my brother paid you in advance just to come."

"Like you didn't enjoy it…oh well. I see your point. However, I really am in need of money right now…"

Pushing her dark hair from her eyes, she shrugged a fallen sleeve back onto her shoulder and crossed her arms.

"Sure I can't interest you in another dance?" she purred, stepping closer. He slightly tensed and took a step back, averting his eyes away from the girl.

"What is the money going to?"

Surprised, she frowned. "Why, do you think I'm a drug addict or something?"

"I didn't say that…I just want to know where all this money is going," he replied calmly, daring to look her straight in the eyes again. As he did, he noticed how easy it was to get lost in them.

"Well…just living. Paying bills and such."

"You mean you do this as a permanent job? You can't be older than eighteen…"

"I'm not. And no, I don't care to do this forever, but for now, it'll have to do. So are you going to pay me or not?" she snapped impatiently.

He hesitated, looking over her with a strange mix of repressed desire and pity.

"Yes…how much do you need?"

Thinking a moment, she calculated outloud. "I'm late on the electric and my car needs gas and the rent is coming next week so…at least two hundred, really. But I could get that if I work extra tonight—"

Claude already had his wallet out. "Here," he said, handing her the cash. She stared down at it, then at him.

"You're serious? This is pretty good….but wait, what are you expecting me to do?"

"Hm…how much would you do?" he asked, more out of curiosity.

Swallowing, she folded the money in her hands nervously.

"From just one person, like this…well….a lot," she said quietly. "But I still wouldn't spend the night, or otherwise become a prostitute, if that's what you're thinking. I still have dignity, you know."

Calmly, he nodded in understanding. "I know."

"So what do you want?"  
"I want to help you. That's all."

Immediately, a mocking voice burst out laughing in his mind. _No you don't, you liar. You want everything she offers and more! _

Internally, he argued with it. _She's just a girl. A victim of a society that's forcing her to work like this. It's my job to help her….not to encourage this kind of debauchery. _

The mocking voice just laughed again. _Oh, right, because you only had pure intentions when you let her crawl all over you and pitifully pleaded with her to stay the night!_

"Help me?" she repeated, interrupting his thoughts and looking up at him suspiciously. "I don't need help."

"You said yourself; you don't want to do this forever. You can't, anyway. You can't possibly feel pride in what you're doing—"

Instantly, her anger flared and she snapped back, "I do, actually. You know why? Because it's something I can do without anyone's supposedly well-meaning 'help'."

"What about your customers?"

"I'm not a freeloader, I don't depend on any one of them specifically. I do a job, they pay me for it, it's how the world works."

"But the job you do…"

"There is nothing wrong with what I do! Go preach to someone else!" she retorted coldly, thrusting the money back towards him. "Here, I don't want your pity."

He refused to take it back.

"Fine, you want to earn it, go ahead. I hereby pay you to keep me company."

"Company?"  
"Yes. A few hours of your time everyday. However long or short you wish it to be."

"But that's not working, that's just…"  
"It's what I want. It hardly insults your dignity," he mused. Giving him a strange look, she scoffed.

"You must be _really_ lonely."

He grimaced at first, insulted, then quickly shrugged it off.

"When the best company you have is a y ounger brother who despises you, life does feel a bit empty."

She tilted her head, looking at him sadly. After a moment, he rolled his eyes and looked away.

"Who pities who now?"

Biting her lip, Esmeralda looked over him curiously. "Surely you have more than Jehan and Quasimodo. Everyone has at least one friend."  
"Met Quasimodo, did you?" he said, dodging the question. She nodded, but continued looking at him expectantly. Finally, he gave in.

"Sure, I have acquaintances I speak to, I'm not a total leper. But that hardly counts as a meaningful relationship."

"So…instead you pay me to be your friend, really. Not doing anything, er….sexual?"

Every desperate nerve in Claude's body screamed 'No, I want that too!' but he could not bring himself to say it. Esmeralda could tell what he was thinking anyway.

"Ah…you want it all, don't you?" she snickered quietly. Between the money and her pity for him, she already decided to accept his offer. Especially since this was a perfect set up for her 'mission' from Clopin. So, she wanted to tease her victim a little more.

"What are you going to do when you run out of money?" she asked softly, moving closer to him. He swallowed.

"I won't."

"You sure? I'm expensive…"

"Then I…I guess I'll just do without."

_Ha. I doubt that, _she thought, now circling him slowly. He was looking more and more uncomfortable. Success.

"What if you want something and I say no?" she pressed on, brushing against him slightly.

"You are _full _of questions—"

"Humor me."

Sighing, eyes still averted, he muttered, "Again, I'd just do without."

Suddenly she was on her tiptoes, both hands on his shoulders, red lips hovering inches away from his.

"Somehow I don't think you're the type of man to just give up."

Before Claude's pulse could race any faster, they both heard a groan from the couch.

"Oh come on, why does he get all the fun?" Jehan whined, rolling over with his eyes half open.

"Because he's not a penniless little boy," Esmeralda teased with an arched brow.

"Hey! I'm like a year and a half younger than you, don't act so superior…At least I'm not a…a stripper, or a middle aged virgin…"

Obviously, Jehan's filter was broken due to grogginess. But lucky for him, Claude was too tempted and aroused by the girl before him to bother with his brother's snarkiness. He fixed his eyes back on Esmeralda.

"Fine. We'll get a room, then," the older brother said coolly with a strangely uncharacteristic smirk. Esmeralda felt a firm hand grab hers and realized that he was pulling her in the direction of his bedroom. She started to panic.

"Um…I just remembered something!" she quickly stammered, slipping out of his grip and glancing between him and Jehan—whom she just realized was her previous sense of security.

"Wait, what…" Claude started to protest, but she had already backed towards the front door.

"I'll come back tomorrow—er…well, maybe, I might have to work, I don't know…I'll see you when I see you, how about that? Good? Okay, bye now!"

With that, she was out of the house and hurrying to her car, soon after peeling out onto the road, straight towards home.

Jehan began a slow clap and was promptly smacked.


	6. Djali

**AN: Welp. The underline didn't work here…. I'll try bold next time with texting. I hope the slashes work as story breaks. If not, you can guess where the scene changes are just by the people speaking.**

**Chapter 6**

Esmeralda survived her reckless drive back home, as it turned out, but not without a certain surprise waiting for her once she arrived. From where she parked, she could see a human figure and something white on her floor of the apartment building, leaning on the balcony in front of her door. Raising a dark brow, she got out and locked her car, then made her way upstairs—all six flights. At last she reached her level, slightly out of breath, and saw who her visitor was.

"I just texted you. Gringoire apparently isn't home….so anyway, I couldn't find a puppy. Will this do?" Clopin asked, holding up the little white something.

"Is…is that a baby goat?" she asked incredulously, stepping closer to get a better look. Indeed it was. Clopin grinned and patted the creature's head affectionately.

"The guy selling them said all the white ones are rare!"

Esmeralda nearly facepalmed.

"You can't be serious. This is a joke, right?"

"No, he assured me they were rare!"

"Clopin."

"Cheap too. Much cheaper than a puppy. Dogs are too conventional anyway," he continued, looking very pleased with himself. His sister sighed irritably.

"I can't have pets in an apartment building. You know that. I was kidding when I asked for a puppy….."

Clopin held up the goat so it was facing her with maximum cuteness. "How can you refuse this poor baby?"

Another voice suddenly joined the conversation. "Aw! Is that what I think it is?"

Pierre had suddenly appeared, rushing passed Esmeralda to Clopin—or rather, the goat in his arms, and immediately began cooing and petting the creature as if it were the most precious thing he had ever laid eyes on. Clopin's grin was beyond smug.

"We can't keep pets, Pierre," Esmeralda repeated herself more firmly, glaring at her room mate, who looked back with her with a pitiful expression of shock.

"Come on, I was never allowed to have a pet before…" he whined. By now he had taken the goat from Clopin's arms and was now clinging to her possessively. Esmeralda stared at him blankly.  
"Then you should have moved into a house."

"Esme, please! I'll make sure she's cared for, I won't let them find out she's here…."

Between her brother and her roommate's pleading, it was very difficult to continue saying no.

"If you get me evicted, I swear…."

"I won't!" Gringoire insisted. She sighed and glanced at Clopin.

"I don't even want to know what kind of freaks you have to know to buy baby goats in the middle of a city…"

"Interesting freaks!" Clopin grinned.

She rolled her eyes then looked back at the goat's furry white face. She was pretty cute... For a goat.

"Fine, what's her name?"

"Djali," Gringoire almost instantly suggested. As soon as Esmeralda asked him where he even got that name from, she instantly regretted it, as she had sent him off on another one of his rants about history and word derivations. As he babbled on, Esmeralda had managed to get all three of them finally inside the apartment.

"I almost forgot. How is my master plan of vengeance going?" Clopin asked his sister eagerly. She grimaced slightly, not really wanting to remember everything that had happened.

"It was fine. I befriended the little brother pretty easily, made myself at home, and uh…well, now I'm getting paid to keep him company now."  
"The little brother?"

"No, Claude."

"To…keep him company?" he snorted. "Seriously? That's pretty pathetic, even for him."

"I kind of feel bad for him…sometimes. He usually ends up creeping me out."

"He's good at that," Clopin remarked cynically. "What did he do this time?"

"Well, we had our agreement and it was all business as usual but somehow it suddenly seemed…" she paused to search for the right word. "Scary. He wanted privacy so he was taking me to his bedroom. I freaked out and left."

By now, Pierre's attention was caught between the goat and the story that was being told. Mildly disturbed by the words, he asked, "What was the agreement?"

"My usual, nothing more," she dismissed it quickly. "And his brother was still in the house. And this adopted son or something…anyway, we weren't totally alone but it was still weird. Maybe because it was at someone's home and not at work."

"Probably. How much have you drained him so far?" Clopin asked with intense interest.

"He gave me two hundred today, after asking how much I really needed. I didn't even do anything. It was pity money, really," she responded with a grimace. Her brother checked his watch.

"Well, I'll have to be going now. I'm almost late for the first date I've had in months…"

Gringoire and Esmeralda both grinned at this, immediately making several teasing comments, which were ignored by Clopin as he was already halfway out the door.  
"Wish me luck!"

"What's her name?" Pierre called out quickly. The other man snorted in amusement, saying the name quickly before he left.

"Fleur de Lys."

/

"So. I see our lady hasn't returned yet," Jehan mused to his brother over a boring weekday breakfast. It had been two days and no sign of the exotic dancer. Jehan had tried contacting her, but found he was being ignored.

"Thank you, I can see that…" muttered Claude coldly, not looking up from his newspaper. (He was probably one of the last people on earth who actually read the paper, but this was just Jehan's theory.)

"You could always go back to _La Pomme…"_

"I'll live, Jehan, thank you. Do shut up now."

The younger just laughed. "You think I can't tell you're going crazy waiting for her to come back and give you another show? You know, you're not the best actor in the world."

"If anything is driving me mad, it's you, so _shut. UP."_ Claude snapped more harshly than before, his jaw clenched. Jehan shrugged and got up, heading for the door to the garage.

"I'll be out causing trouble, no doubt. Do enjoy your lonely life while I'm gone," he said casually as he stepped out the door.  
Hearing the car pull out of the driveway, Claude sighed and muttered to himself, "I don't even care anymore. I just don't."

_Oh, but you do. You care about everything. You care about Jehan's soul as much as you do about your own—which is still utterly damned, in case you forgot. Remember that? So much self control you have shown lately…ha! As if your pathetic begging weren't enough, you've done practically nothing but fantasize since she introduced you to your new friend Lust. You barely even try to fight it off, don't you? Thinking about her. Wondering what would have happened if she had followed you to your bed. Imagining what it would be like to have her crave you as much as you crave her….Wishing she were here this very moment, _wanting _to be tormented by her. The visions during the day are nearly as bad as the ones at night, aren't they? You can barely pay attention to a conversation. You can't put on that white collar without hating yourself and wishing you were anyone else. My, my, what a ridiculous, weak hypocrite you have become. _

Claude was tempted to bang his head against the table repeatedly. The voice of reason had not ceased mocking him for the past three days.

_I'll confess, I'll do penance, and if she ever comes back, I'll slam the door in her face! Well…no, no, I have to help her…yes, that act of charity would set it right, wouldn't it? I will still help her financially but teach her at the same time. Then she can see how wrong this lifestyle is and I can help her change it! If I succeed in that, it may be the most genuine act of kindness I've shown—or at least equal to the adoption of Quasimodo. Anyway, once I purify her life and send her back out into the world as a good Christian woman, I won't need to worry about my small sins regarding her. The debt will be repaid, won't it?_

_But does that mean I could enjoy more of her services before all of this…?_

At this thought, he instantly smacked himself in the forehead as if trying to knock the idea out.

_Hypocrite! Filthy hypocrite! Even if that was not enough reason to be sent straight to hell, she'd never listen to the preaching of someone willingly wallowing in sin with her! Idiot…_

Clenching his fist, he realized something else. _But I have already done so. I'm already no better than her, in her eyes. How absurd it would be for me to tell her about morality when all she has seen is my immorality! What can I do? I suppose the most reasonable thing is just cancel the agreement and never see her again._

At that moment, there was the best and worst sound he could possibly hear. The doorbell. He quickly got u p and rushed to answer it, forgetting the idea he had just settled on. Telling himself that it was probably not her did not crush his hopes that it was.

He opened the door.


	7. It's Not Real

**AN: Here's some disappointing, one-sided, Fresme semi-smut for you people. Enjoy. **

**Chapter 7**

"Um. Hi."

Indeed, it was she. Esmeralda stood there, dressed rather casually as she had when she had supposedly been visiting Jehan. She looked up at Claude a bit awkwardly when he didn't immediately invite her in.

"Is this a bad time?"

Snapping out of it, he moved aside quickly. "No, no, come on in…"

Hesitantly, she stepped inside. Her eyes were obviously searching for something.

"Is Jehan here?"  
"Oh. He… just left actually," he informed her quietly, soon after noticing her tense up uncomfortably.

_She doesn't trust me when we're alone. But then again, why should she?_

After a few seconds of painfully awkward silence, the girl turned to him with a sigh that definitely signaled impending brutal honesty.

"Is the deal still on? If not, I'll just be going because I'm sure we both have better things to do, but if it's still on, just give me an estimate of how much money I'll be getting. So I'll at least have an idea of what I should be prepared to do."

"Um…a-alright then, let me see," he said, inwardly cringing at his own voice as it came out so pitifully nervous. Taking out his wallet, he pretended to count bills, though he already knew exactly how much he had. But since he had been blanking out from staring at her, he needed a moment to look away and think about a proper answer to her request.

_Too little, she'll not come back. Too much, I'll appear more desperate than I already do, on top of making her expect that much every time she visits. But how much is reasonable for something as unusual as this? _

"You have no idea what to pay me, do you?" she asked bemusedly after watching him count bills for a good minute. He sighed and looked up, shaking his head.

"I have about a hundred and fifty on me, that's all."

_And I'd prefer not to send all of it, since I do need to eat and such, but who am I kidding, I'm probably just going to end up starving this week just to keep you coming back._

"And what exactly do you want me to do for this visit?" she inquired as casually as a waitress taking an order.

"I'm honestly not sure yet."

At this, she was tempted to roll her eyes in annoyance. Instead she asked, "Well, to narrow it down a bit, are you just wanting company? If it's just that, let's say an hour will be…eh, five dollars."

"That cheap?"

"It's just company, right?" she shrugged, then continued. "As for other favors, there are no set rules, but I consider less than fifteen for a lapdance to just be rude. Just dancing would be a bit strange here, unless you happen to have a pole in your house…."

"You're very talented," he blurted out.

She stared a second in surprise then scoffed. "Thanks, but it doesn't take much talent to swing around a pole half naked. Just a complete lack of self consciousness, really."

"No, I mean your actual dancing. That you did alone on stage."

"Oh…that…yeah, that's the kind I really enjoy doing. I always have," she said, appearing sentimental for a moment but quickly snapping out of it. "You know what, I'll just come up with the figures once you're finished. If it's more than you have at the moment, pay me back whenever you have it. I'll warn you if something you want is particularly pricey. How's that?"

"Fine with me…"

_Pick something for her to do already before this gets any more awkward….Damn, what do I even want? What does she charge for just a kiss? She almost did it the last time but then pulled away….No, no, don't ask that, it's probably too personal for a stripper. _

"Um…I'd just want to see your specialty dancing again. The kind you actually enjoy. I just saw a glimpse of it, but what I did see was—"

"I don't know if it would be so great without music and a revealing costume," she said dully.

"You improvised when Jehan made you come here the first night."

With a little half smile, she nodded and looked down. "Yes, I did."

Reaching into her pocket, she slipped out her phone and started methodically tapping the screen. At first, Claude was thoroughly confused, until suddenly music was playing. As she turned it up and set it down on the coffee table, the sound became more distinguishable by fast paced drumming and foreign instruments. The dancer flashed a semi awkward smile, lowered her eyes, and started swaying her hips rhythmically as if trying out the tempo and planning her next moves. Then she was in all out motion, varying between graceful footwork, twirling arms, an occasional hip roll. The transitions were so smooth it almost appeared rehearsed, yet despite this, it was still full of life.

Meanwhile, Claude had stepped back until the backs of his legs hit the sofa and he sunk down into it, not taking his eyes off the dancing girl. She truly was entrancing—and she wasn't even exposed or purposefully seductive. Not just any barely clothed woman on a pole could do _this. _

At last, the song began to draw to a close and Esmeralda stopped, breathless, to turn off the music. As she did, she turned back to Claude with a slight bow and flushed grin.

"That's about the best I can do just on cue like that."

"It was beautiful," he said softly, eyes not moving from hers. If she hadn't known better, she might have allowed herself to blush.

"Thanks."

_I don't see how this is revenge for Clopin. The man obviously doesn't mind spending money on me. Maybe I can….guilt trip him. After he pays me, of course. Then he'll be miserable, Clopin will be satisfied, and I'll be done with this whole scheme. But I would still like as much money as possible before I go…._

"What did you want to do before I left last time?" she asked innocently, taking a step closer to him. "Just wondering."  
Claude's eyes widened slightly and he instinctively leaned back further into the sofa, as if trying to disappear.  
"What I wanted to do?"

_What else, throw you onto my bed and roughly take you over and over again._

"I don't know, I didn't plan anything," he said quickly, not looking at her.

She rolled her eyes. If he didn't start speaking his mind honestly for once, she'd really be left with nothing to do here.

"Work with me here. I'd feel really bad charging you for just an innocent little dance."

"You really need me to pay you a lot, without accepting charity or 'pity money'?" he mused dryly, glancing over her a second as if deep in thought, mustering up a rather less polite side of himself and looking back straight into her eyes. "Fine. Strip."

Now it was her turn to stare in shock. _Maybe I should have accepted pity money. But this isn't too difficult, I've done worse, come on…_

And yet, somehow, it _was_ difficult. In the privacy of someone's home, without the loud music and the alcohol and the other dancers and plenty of reminders of the impersonality of all of this, taking clothes off definitely had a more intimate feeling to it. More intimidating. But she managed to suck it up and do it anyway.

_Think of the money, think of the money, don't wonder if you're going to hell or if he's going to hell or if he's done this before or if he'll do this again, just think of the money, _she internally chanted, quickly removing her blouse and jeans as if she were casually undressing at home, alone.

"Hope that's good enough. It's as far as I'll go," she said, avoiding eye contact and crossing her arms as she stood, strangely thankful that she had decided to wear lingerie that actually matched. From the look on her customer's face, she sensed he wanted more but this was still plenty. Silently, he motioned her closer with a slight gesture of his hand. She hesitantly approached, unused to being summoned like this, then slightly gasped when his fingers closed around her wrist, pulling her towards him until she had no choice but to either lean over him uncomfortably or settle down on his lap. She chose the latter.

"Am I going to go bankrupt if I ask for a kiss?" he finally murmured, his gaze drifting down to her lips as it had the first night she came to the house.

_Of course, he asks that, I knew it…_she thought, looking away for a moment before shaking her head.

"No, go ahead."

_Get it over with, so I can go home and pay the bills and—_

His mouth was on hers immediately. At first, unmoving, as if he had no earthly idea what to do, then his hands slowly moved to her waist and the back of her neck as he carefully started moving his lips against hers. Not wanting to appear frigid, she responded mechanically. It was not awful for her, but it wasn't particularly magical, either. Then, he suddenly jerked her closer against him and intensified the kiss, at this point almost forcing her pulse to quicken and a shiver to run through her mostly exposed body. Mentally, she cursed herself for being so damn easily arousable, but was interrupted in her thoughts by a hand sliding along her smooth thigh and a shy tongue hesitantly touching her lips. It was too much.

_Jesus, at this rate, I'll end up being the prostitute he thought I was to begin with, _she thought in frustration at herself, quickly pulling away from him and looking away.

_I'm really that repulsive? _Claude miserably thought. He was trying his best not to be insulted by the obvious opinion of a mere stripper, but it was rather difficult when he couldn't even pay a girl to kiss him for more than ten seconds.

"That felt almost like a first kiss," she said jokingly with a slight, nervous laugh, attempting to ease the tension. When all she received in response was silence, just the opposite happened.

"It…wasn't your first kiss, was it?"

Every muscle in the priest's body tightened, and being halfway on top of him, Esmeralda could feel his rigidity. Finally, he spoke, with a clipped, matter of fact tone to disguise his shame.

"Yes, it was. What of it?"

She looked down at him dubiously. "How old are you?"

Swallowing, he quickly said, "Thirty six."

Her eyes widened as she still continued trying to process this. _I was guessing more into his forties, considering the grey hair and all, but that's still….no, he's got to be kidding._

"And you've never been kissed in your life, yeah, right," she snorted.

"It's flattering that you don't believe me, but it's true. Unfortunately," Claude retorted, finding his gaze starting to drift slowly down to the woman's chest. He quickly looked back up into her eyes, just as she responded.

"How does that even happen?"

Sighing, his head leaned back into the couch and he shifted her more securely across his lap, arms locked around her waist.

"Do you usually ask for the story of a customer's life?"

"Only when it's as interesting as a thirty six year old virgin who's never been kissed," she mused tartly.

"Fine. Basically it was the combination of authoritarian parents and being generally repulsive to the opposite sex."

"What do you mean repulsive?" she asked in confusion, then quickly thought of manipulation the question to her benefit, smoothly running her fingers through his hair. "I mean, you're far from bad looking…"

He merely rolled his eyes, obviously not buying the act. But he answered her anyway.

"It was less of an appearance issue and more due to a complete lack of social skills. Which you have witnessed. And being pushed by my parents to join the clergy did not help matters. Not that I was opposed to it, it just was not something I had always dreamed about doing. But you can't simply say no to the kind of parents I had. And since I never found a girl interesting enough to really pursue, let alone one who fancied me, I never much thought about the sacrifice of becoming celibate. So, I went through becoming a priest as expected, and ignoring women became second nature. Thus, never being kissed, until now."

Esmeralda looked down at him with something resembling pity, and he quickly averted his gaze. The last thing he needed right now was to feel even weaker. A moment later, he felt her soft hands rest on her shoulders, then her lips gently press against his cheek.

To him, it was the joyful hope that she actually cared.

To her, it was a mix of pity and a ploy to squeeze more currency out of his already starved wallet. Either way, it worked, and a moment later, she was slowly moving her hips in a circle over his.

_There you go, more expensive moves, just keep them coming, you only owe me thirty five so far, I'm going to need a bit more than that…._

Desperate, she crashed her lips against his, and received an immediate, frenzied response as his hands took on a mind of their own. The long, thin fingers started trailing up her thighs to her hips, and further up towards her chest as he deepened the kiss more and more, already too far gone to realize how artificial all of this was to her.

_Go ahead, feel me up, that will be twenty bucks, thank you, _she thought with a small smirk against his lips as he finally reached her breasts with shaky, hesitant hands. Because of the padding in her bra, she barely felt anything, but to him, it was the most thrilling moment of his sexually deprived life. He barely started to massage them when she broke the kiss to glance at the clock on the wall.

She had two hours until her shift at _La Pomme d'Eve _but could hardly do anymore damage here.

Pushing his hands away with an apologetic smile, she said quietly, "I have to go…"

It took a moment for Claude to process this, as his brain was still swimming with passion. "Oh…work…yes. Um…here," he said with a slight tremble in his voice, retrieving his wallet yet again.

"Sixty," she said, her voice positively sugarcoated. He gulped.

"Sixty?"

She nodded slowly, and ever so reluctantly, Claude handed over the payment. Beaming, Esmeralda jumped off his lap, shuffling to get her clothes back on with an obvious sense of relief. Once the money was stashed in the pocket of her jeans, she turned back to him with another little smile before heading to the door.

"Thanks!"

"When will you—"

The door slammed behind her.  
"…be back…" he finished in a disgruntled mutter, leaning back and staring at the ceiling as the empty void began to settle in his soul.

_What the hell am I doing with my life? _


	8. Extremes

**AN: More revenge plots for you guys to love/hate, yayyyy! :D **

**Chapter 8 **

She never did come back. Only three weeks without her, really, three weeks exactly the same as his life before he met her, but to Claude, it felt like three years. Three years without some sort of necessity, but in a way that was difficult to pinpoint. He analyzed the craving, shrugged it off, distracted himself, ended up wondering about her again, cursed himself, prayed, and repeated the cycle, day in and day out. It was beginning to feel like mental torture, to the point that he began to wonder if something had happened to her. (He dared not consciously wonder if she was dead, but it was in the back of his mind, as women such as her tended to be targets of violence—at least that was the media stereotype.)

One evening, he was brooding over this whilst going through paperwork mechanically when Jehan came practically skipping into the house. When he received no greeting, the young blonde frowned and strolled over to his gloomy brother.

"Guess what!"

Claude's dull eyes barely glanced up at him, completely devoid of any enthusiasm. "What."

"I saw you-know-who today."

Immediately, those glazed over eyes lit up and widened slightly as Claude's shoulders tensed.

"Really…"

"Mmhm."

Before the older could ask anything about it, Jehan coolly added, "She was with someone."

Even someone as oblivious and shallow as Jehan could not help but notice the flash of jealousy across his brother's face just before it returned to its usual somber calm. Feeling extra wicked today, Jehan decided to rub this little bit of information in further.

"It's a friend of a friend. His name's Phoebus. I met him first at _La Pomme _but he was also with us later at the diner that the girl also works at. He kind of threw himself at her," he snickered. "So today, I was just on my way to Philippe's and saw them talking behind the diner…"

Claude cut in quickly. "Talking doesn't mean anything."

"Hm, when it follows up with a nice round of tonsil hockey, it does."

Jehan was wildly exaggerating, of course, it had only been a small, chaste kiss that he had seen. However, he wanted to cause Claude as much pain as possible.

"Well. That's her business, I suppose."

The priest would never admit anything as personal as his feeling about something like this to anyone, least of all to his imp of a brother. But beneath the calm, cool expression was envious blood beginning to boil.

"Just found that interesting, thought you should know. Guess you'll have to hire some other girl to get you off. See you," Jehan mused, quickly heading upstairs before he would be harshly scolded for his insolence.

_She's seeing someone. Merely means she's not my problem anymore, _Claude told himself, but his untamed emotions said otherwise. He wanted to find her. He wanted to see this for himself, then beat the other man senseless, and drag the girl away from those vulgar places she was so tied to—to purify her, only to taint her all over again. Just to feel that soft, curvy body on top of him again….

_No. Stop it. You're doing it again, _he mentally snapped to himself. _This…this is so absurd. You're jealous of a man you don't even know because he's seeing a common tease. She's hardly better than a prostitute. And it's not as if anyone forced her to do it either, she apparently enjoys milking helpless men for all they're worth. Absolutely nothing to be jealous of. Let them drown in their disgrace together, it is not my concern…_

Claude could be a wonderful liar to others, but he could not deceive himself. He could obsess over right and wrong and what he should and shouldn't do for days, but the truth was that he had absolutely no control over himself. It was not as if he had consciously _resisted _women all of his life—they merely avoided him. That did not build up any self control. In fact, it weakened him even more. In realizing this, the young priest felt utterly helpless. His prayers were never answered. God never helped him resist the girl. God didn't stop her from tempting him. God didn't make him immune to these weak human feelings that never ceased their demands for things he shouldn't or couldn't have. He had to suffer the feeling while being unable to ease the pain by giving in. Loneliness, lust, fear, and now this sickening envy, just from learning that a woman he barely knew was with another. He couldn't pay her to actually care, only to pretend to.

Forgetting all about it seemed impossible. Seeking wrath was insane…but he could obtain more information and go from there.

"Jehan!"

/

Esmeralda had generally thought one couldn't have a job like hers and have a relationship as well. She just expected any normal guy would be either too protective, too conservative, too self conscious or too jealous to put up with what she did with other men, even if it meant nothing and wasn't even that much anyway. Sure, she could date one of those guys who 'liked to watch'…but that was a bit disturbing to her.

Now, there was Phoebus. Full of quick comebacks and smoothe little pickup lines. Hated his job, but made great money. Devastatingly handsome, of course. And on top of all of that, he couldn't care less that she was an exotic dancer. At first, she was positively thrilled at that fact. Most people who found out instantly thought of her as a slut. Phoebus found it sexy.

"Gotta do what you gotta do," was all he said about it.

But now, only three weeks later, it was starting to bother her. He would occasionally come into the club like any other customer, watch her onstage then calmly allow her to give someone else a lapdance until she had time to give him one. And he still paid her for it. He'd talk to her like she was still his girlfriend during the whole thing but she still just felt like…well. A stripper.

Then, he started bringing his friends again. Flattering at first—he was showing her off. But again, he just sat back and let his friends pay for her services.

_Maybe he's just confident that I only want him and this is just a job. Maybe I'm overthinking this. Yes, I AM overthinking this, _she had thought.

But soon after that, he got comfortable with the other dancers—comfortable as in hands and cash everywhere at once. And still, she kept silent.

It was very unlike herself, yes, but Phoebus was the kind of man that made any woman desperate to make him want her back. Something about his distant charisma, as if he was _so close _to falling for her hard…and this was on top of his obvious good looks and financial success. Thus, Esmeralda had fallen into the same trap that so many others had—so scared of losing such a 'catch', subconsciously feeling that she was of lesser worth than him, she dared not do or say anything to disrupt the fragile relationship. No matter how shallow it was.

It wasn't as if he ignored her—he had already treated her to absurdly expensive dates and such, and was the type to text her all night like a teenager. Honestly, she found it endearing. Life went on this way.

As far as Gringoire and Djali, they had not been caught yet. Her roommate had decided to spend his own money on their little pet, and that suited her just as well. With all the extra tips she had begun to save up, from both of her jobs, as well as being taken care of by Phoebus, Esmeralda was rather close to saving up enough to hold her off until she could get another job.

On the way to work at the club, she noticed a job opening sign at a local gym for instructors. That was all she could see of the sign from driving by, but it was enough to give her hope. Maybe she could be a dance instructor…there was an idea. Smiling to herself, this prospect lightened her thoughts.

However, once she was in view of _La Pomme d'Eve, _it felt as if her heart had dropped to the pit of her stomach. Several of her coworkers were crowded outside the building, staring at a wall that had previously been blank but now was covered in graffiti. After parking, Esmeralda quickly got out to see what they were reading. Scrawled across the brick of the building were spray painted words, bright red and judgmental, stating every slut-shaming insult and damning accusation that the human mind could even come up with. Some of the vulgar sentences even overlapped each other, there were so many of them.

The owner of the club, an older woman, quickly told some of the girls to get a hose and soap from the garage next door to wash the graffiti off.

Meanwhile, Esmeralda took it upon herself to reassure the newer dancers, who were staring at the wall worriedly, obviously more affected by the words.

"It was probably just some bored twelve year old brat with a bottle of spray paint. Don't let it bother you…"

Still, something about it bothered _her_.

/

Convincing Jehan to do it was easy—satisfying the boy's appetite for answers as to why Claude wanted this done was another story. He brought it up carefully, claiming he wanted to help the girl find a better job. Then he further explained that "harsh but indirect tactics would work most efficiently, since she won't listen to me." However, Jehan was not as stupid as his brother would like to think, at least as far as ulterior motives were concerned.

"Are you even hearing yourself? You're just jealous. You want me to sabotage her so she can't be with other guys."

Immediately, Claude's face flushed violently. "I do _not_, this is for her own good! Please, jealous of her customers…..That's an absurd thing to say, even from you…."

"What's absurd? A hot girl gave you the time of your life and now she's left to do the same with someone else. And that really pissed you off, didn't it?"

"No, she's just a stripper, she only did it because I paid her—"

"Paid or not, you care. Makes sense, seeing as you have the sexual sophistication of a _child—"_

"JEHAN—"

"Do you want me to do it or not?" Jehan asked, dangling the question before Claude like meat before a starving animal.

Grimacing, the shamed priest turned away for a moment and huffed. "Yes."

"I'll do it if you admit you're just jealous."

"It isn't JUST jealousy, it's…"

Jehan cut him off again. "But it is a part of it, right?"

Begrudgingly, Claude swallowed his pride and nodded. An impish smirk pulled at Jehan's lips.

"Good for you, some honesty at last! Now. How shall I vandalize this place of godlessness?"

Claude thought a moment. "Just…send a message that what they're doing is wrong."

Jehan audibly snorted at this. _Wrong enough for you to gladly take part in it, _he thought, but kept these sentiments to himself. The older man's mind was far too skewed by now to accept obvious facts such as this.

"Yes sir!" he said with a mocking salute. "I'll need some money for the spray paint, though…."

The money was thrust at him wearily. With that, Jehan had gone off to merrily destroy private property with the blessing of his dear brother.

But now what to do? The place didn't shut down, the girl didn't quit. She was still with this mystery man as well, at least according to Inspector Jehan. Not believing his spy fully, Claude casually asked to contact Esmeralda via cell phone whilst pretending to be the younger sibling. Jehan didn't take it well.

"First off, I don't really talk to her, I just have her number."

"That's fine, I'll think of an excuse. Please, the phone," Claude demanded more than asked, holding out his palm expectantly. Jehan hesitated, giving him a worried look.

"Claude….really. _Why_ do you care?"

"You know why, I don't have to say it!" snapped the priest defensively.

"I think you need help. Like at first, I could understand, I'd be a little upset too, but you're getting really obsessive…."

"I'll give you five dollars."

The phone was instantly in his hand.

"Oh by the way…." Jehan started to ask, now back to his cheerful, uncaring state of mind. "Where are you getting all of this cash? Shouldn't you be broke by now?"

Claude didn't look up from the phone as he bluntly answered.

"Your college funds."


	9. Pauvre Quasimodo

**AN: So. Hope the bold/italic thing and line breaks work with the texting because in Word this looks easy to understand but if fanfiction gets rid of it, I don't know…. Anyway. Next installment.**

**Chapter 9**

It had been yet another exhausting day at work. Being distracted by the vandalism, Esmeralda had completely forgotten about trying to apply for a job at the gym. She told herself she would try again tomorrow, but in all honestly, the thought scared her. How was she supposed to approach the question of "What's your previous work experience?". She could lie and say she had only been a waitress, but she really was an awful liar. Besides, only serving tables was hardly impressive. And in this world, there was always someone more qualified, more charismatic, or more familiar with the employer. She didn't have a shot in hell. The more Esmeralda thought about it, the more pointless it all seemed.

When she felt the familiar buzz from her phone in her pocket, her heart fluttered, instantly assuming it was Phoebus. Finally, something to cheer her up. Opening the message, her smile fell slightly. It wasn't Phoebus.

"Jehan…?" she muttered, raising a brow in annoyed disbelief as she read the message.

_**How r u doing? ;)**_

The little player had probably not gotten laid in weeks. She rolled her eyes, sending back, **Good, thanks…you?**

The response took a few minutes. _**Quite well, I suppose. How is everything with your boyfriend? Phoebus, was it?**_

_Okaaay….the first thing after a usual 'how are you' that he wants to know is about Phoebus? And you're not fooling anyone with the sudden proper speak, Jehan…_

**He's fine. I haven't seen you in a while. **

She honestly didn't know what else to say.

_**Yeah! We should hang out sometime ;)**_

Now he was semi-back to himself….what?

**Ok is this like a prank text fest with your friends? I think you're supposed to do that anonymously….**

Another minute passed and her phone vibrated again, showing the message, _**No, why would you think that?**_

She almost laughed. **Because you spell everything correctly and use intelligent words one minute then you're sounding like yourself the next.**

_**Ok fine I have a friend talking to u 2**_

**Who?**

_**doesnt want 2 say**_

…**Why not?**

_**Inquisitive little thing, aren't you?**_

**WHO IS THIS.**

_**jehan!**_

**No, the other one.**

_**It's Jehan. **_

**No it's not.**

_**Yes it is. **_

**No its not, you sound nothing alike. Seriously, if you guys are going to try to pull one over on someone, you could at least text like each other! Stupid….**

_**Srsly its me im just messing with u. sorry. so about hanging out again….**_

**Goodbye.**

_**Jehan's an idiot. I'm sorry. I would say who I am, but it doesn't matter and you wouldn't want to talk to me anyway. **_

**You're one of his stupid little friends, I know. I'm not interested. Leave me alone.**

_**I'm not his friend.**_

**Oh really? Then why is he letting you use his phone to talk to me? Do I even know you?**

_**Yes. **_

**You didn't answer my other question.**

_**Because I'm paying him. **_

…**.Claude?**

She didn't get another response.

"You idiot!"

"Me? What about you, you're the one who gave yourself away!"

"You insisted on telling her things in between!"

"You told me to do it first, you just didn't like what I said! Honestly man, grow a pair and talk to her yourself in person or get a life already."

"I have a life. It's you who's throwing yours way."

"Ugh, not this again, this is not about me…."

Jehan tried to walk away, but was snatched by the arm and spun around, instantly looking into the surprisingly not angry, but desperate eyes of his brother.

"Jehan. Please. This matters to me."

"I noticed—"

"You have to help me. I've never asked you for anything before."

"Um, yeah you did, I spraypainted like you wanted and let you make a sad attempt to text like me on the phone…"

"Because I paid you. Please. No one will do anything for me just out of compassion. You're my _brother._ Don't you care just a little?"

Jehan stepped back. "If you want someone to do your dirty work for free, get that freak upstairs to do it, okay? I'm done."

As he walked off, Claude snarled quietly and was about to snap at him for his heartlessness, but then realized what the brat had actually said. Quasimodo…the tasks would have to be simple, but he'd do them willingly. Claude would be doing the boy a favor for giving him something to do for once….

Quickly, the priest made his way upstairs to the room of his adopted son, interrupting the child's sleep. (He paid so little attention to Quasimodo that he did not exactly take note of what times he usually went to bed.) Startled, Quasimodo jolted awake in a panic but was instantly calmed by the sight of his beloved caretaker.

"I have a job for you," said Claude quietly. The light from the hall was bright enough for the boy to read his lips. Understanding immediately, he beamed with excitement.

"What is it."

"You are going to have to go outside…"

Quasimodo cringed. Outside meant pain.

"But it won't be for very long at a time. And I will be with you mostly…"

As Claude explained the rest of the plan, Quasimodo's interest grew, as did his confusion. However, if the misshapen boy asked any personal questions, such as why this needed to be done, all he received was an icy glare. Eventually, the boy resigned himself to the task in obedient silence.

If he were not afraid of receiving hurtful looks, Quasimodo would've been pressing his face against the window of the car. It had been truly ages since Claude had bothered to take the child anywhere with him. In fact, it had been ages since he had even seen so much of the sky, which was fortunately quite bright and blue on this particular day. Quasimodo marveled at nearly every building he saw, as well as various cars or people who stood out to him. Every so often, he'd excitedly point at the person or object and Claude would patiently nod in recognition then shift his gaze back to the road.

"Remember what you're looking for. Think of it as a game," said the priest with a wry smile once he was sure the boy was watching him closely.

"I know. I haven't seen her yet, though."

"Or the man I showed you?"

The previous night, Claude had abused his brother's social media to find any photos of Esmeralda or Phoebus. He found very few for the girl, but endless pictures of the latter. Mostly involving beer kegs or strange women. Strangely, he could not find Phoebus's address anywhere (at least not with his own limited computer skills.) So he had resorted to merely combing the city all day to find the man.

"No…not yet…," said Quasimodo regretfully. Claude sighed and continued glancing out the side window, still searching.

Suddenly, Quasimodo let out a startling cry, nearly making Claude jump out of his skin in the process. The car behind him blared it's horn and only then did he realize he had abruptly slammed on the brakes, nearly causing an accident. Quickly veering over to the nearest parking space, in front of a small café, Claude finally caught his breath and glared at Quasimodo.

"What?! What is it? Are you hurt?"

"I saw him!"

The boy pointed to the left excitedly, and Claude's eyes followed, widening as they fixed on his target.

"Good work…" he quietly said with a hint of a smirk.

"Are we going to go get him yet?" Quasimodo asked, also watching the young, blonde man go into a liquor store nearby.

"Not yet. And we aren't going to 'get' anyone. We'll…send a message."

It would be a lie to say Quasimodo felt entirely comfortable with this. But his fierce loyalty to the only human being who had ever cared for him easily overcame any doubts about the morality behind this venture. As for Claude's morality, it was currently being suffocated by the insidious effects of his own jealousy. Virtue be damned, he had to do something about this. He was never the sort to be beaten easily, and even when he was defeated, he could not ever take it well.

Jehan had always said he had far too much of a temper to live the calm, somber lifestyle of a priest…though temper was not the proper word for what Claude was dangerously in excess of. It was passion.

"Look, he's coming out!" Quasimodo alerted his caretaker excitedly, as Phoebus strolled casually out of the store and back to a royal blue sports car, placing a bag full of beverages in the passenger seat before getting in himself.

Claude switched on the motor.

"Are we going to follow him home?" Quasimodo asked. He meant it as a joke, but from the cold smile on Claude's face, he could tell the answer was yes before the priest actually said so.

"That is the first step. From there, we will find out what needs to be done next," he stated calmly, backing out of the parking space and following the blue car from a distance. Glancing back at the boy, he flashed an uncharacteristic, half-mad grin. "Is this not a fun game, Quasimodo?"

"Yes but…I'm not sure what the rules are."

Laughing sharply, he responded, "I make them up as I go along. As of now, the rules are not to be seen and not to be heard."

Quasimodo thought to himself that the rules sounded suspiciously like home, but said nothing.

Eventually, the black car followed the blue all the way up to a gated neighborhood.

"Seriously...?" Claude growled venomously, driving past and eventually pulling over to the side of the road, surveying the tall iron fence around the edges of the neighborhood. Slowly, he got out of the car, stepping through the grass and leaves as quietly as humanly possible up to the cold metal bars. Quasimodo followed.

"Are we going to climb that?"

The fence looked about ten feet tall, and had no horizontal bars that would make climbing possible.

"No…we're going under it," Claude said, judging the space between the bottom of a section of the fence and the ground. Being a thin man, he could probably crawl under it with no trouble. Quasimodo, however…well, he'd see about that. Only pausing a moment to regret not wearing more suitable clothes, Claude knelt, got down on his belly, and slid himself under the fence with ease. He got up and dusted himself off, feeling a bit accomplished.

"What about me?" Quasimodo asked, looking at the space doubtfully.

"Climb or dig."

The boy's one good eye widened and his jaw gaped, looking up at the height of the fence once more. Hesitantly, he grabbed hold of two vertical bars, then put one foot out against the side of one further out. He did the same with the other, pushing against both bars with his feet for support and directing his upward climb with his hands, slowly shifting his feet up, one at a time, until he could swing one leg over the very top.

"Good, good, now jump," the priest encouraged, but Quasimodo hesitated. It was a far drop. He decided to slowly go back down in the same manner that he had came up, except on the opposite side, of course. This time, he slid down shakily until his feet were firmly planted on the ground. He looked up at Frollo and beamed—a lopsided, toothy grin.

"Now. We find out which house is his. Come along," said his master, turning towards the backyard of someone's home and swiftly running through it to the next gap between houses. Quasimodo, always following, asked, "Why can't we just walk on the sidewalks?"

Giving him an annoyed look, Claude reminded him, "First rule of the game. Do not be seen!"

The boy nodded sheepishly. "Oh. Right."

So the two wandered through the outer edges of the neighborhood this way—sometimes through yards, other times through woods that belonged to no home in particular. Claude could only pray that Phoebus did not live in the center of the community, far from the safety of the woods and the fences. But they were fortunate.

There it was, the same blue sports car parked outside a two story house with a well kept backyard.

"Now it's your time. Go to the windows. Do not be seen. Be very quiet. Look around until you see the man. Then come back and tell me what you saw."

Claude purposefully spelled this out as clearly as possible for his ward, complete with extra gesturing. Quasimodo obeyed almost immediately.

He crouched over even more than he was naturally as he crept up to each window, making him almost appear like a four legged creature from a distance. Finally, he found a window that peaked interest, and a wide, twisted smile spread across his face for a moment before it turned into an expression of confusion. Turning to his master, he hobbled back into the wooded shadows.

"Well?" Claude whispered.

"I saw him. He was in the living room. Then a girl came in—"

"What did she look like?" the priest cut him off, dark eyes wide and impatient.

Quasimodo smiled shyly at this. "Really pretty."

This innocent statement from the boy only made Claude more fearful of the situation.

"Be more specific."

"She had…black hair and um…I couldn't see her eye color but um…"

"Nevermind," Claude snapped, turning away from the boy and striding boldly towards the house. "I'll see for myself."

Once at the window, however, he wished he had not looked. It was indeed Phoebus and Esmeralda. On the sofa. In a horizontal position. That was all the horrified, tormented man at the window could register in his maddened mind before he stormed back to the woods, not to Quasimodo, but to the ground. He was frantically looking for something. Just before the confused deaf boy could ask what this 'something' was, Frollo picked it up and thrust it out to him.

"Throw this at the glass," he hissed. It was a heavy looking rock, larger than his fist.

"W-what?" the boy stammered. The priest's jaw tightened dangerously.

"Do it!"

Intimidated by his expression, Quasimodo quickly grabbed the stone and threw it at the house from where he stood. It landed about ten feet away from it, barely making a thud in the grass.

"Idiot…" Claude muttered to himself, pushing the boy out into the sun and pointing sharply at where the stone fell, now mouthing the words as they were closer to the house. "Get it. Throw it again, now!"

The poor child was even more frightened now. What if he did hit it and got caught? What if he missed? He could not win. He didn't even know why he was doing this, except that if he did not, he'd suffer the wrath of his only defender.

The boy bounded out onto the grass, looked around for the rock, and at last lifted it with one large, strong hand. Pulling it back over his shoulder, he carefully aimed for the large pane of glass that was so much closer now. He tensed, closed his eyes, and thrust the stone forward violently.

Even if he was not deaf, he might not have heard the loud shatter of the window due to his own pounding heartbeat as he flew back to the woods in a sheer panic. He rushed to Claude, almost topping him over in a terrified embrace, which was returned by a harsh yank on the wrist.  
"Get out of here, damn you!"

Quasimodo didn't have the time nor the concentration to understand the words, but he certainly understood the need to run. Now.

Both of them dashed and stumbled back the way they came, the priest in the lead as a furious black blur. At last, they reached the fence. Claude dived under it, scrambled to his feet, and kept running. Quasimodo, now alone, struggled to climb over the fence now that he was so shaky and panicked. Though no one was in sight, he felt as if he was being chased nonetheless. Eventually, he got to the top of the fence, but in looking back, lost his balance and fell to the other side.

A shooting pain burst out in his left side and he let out a howl like an injured animal, curling up and rolling onto his twisted back, clutching his left arm. Panting, he heaved himself back to his feet, whimpering, and didn't stop running until he made it to the car. Inside, at the driver's seat, Claude was still pumped full of adrenaline, but his senses were slowly returning. Slowly, he turned on the engine and pulled out onto the street, eyes never once looking at Quasimodo.

"I fell."

"Did you?" Frollo said, unconcerned.

"Yes! From the fence! I think I broke something!"

"If you broke something, you'd be screaming now. Don't panic yourself into thinking it's worse than it is, or it will be."

Looking down, Quasimodo gingerly rubbed his arm, which was still throbbing. There was silence for the rest of the car ride.


	10. Gringoire and his babbling

**Chapter 10**

"What in the hell?"

Clopin's words echoed Esmeralda's own reaction to the occurrence that she was now explaining.

"Yeah, exactly. Phoebus just assumed it was some neighborhood brat or something….It probably was. But it's just all a weird coincidence, considering the other things that have happened this week."

Esmeralda was making a path in the carpet from all her pacing as she told the story over the phone.

"First, someone spraypaints all of these shaming comments all over the wall of _La Pomme, _I mean stuff like…I don't know, 'go back to hell', I mean, that doesn't sound like a kid to me but who else does that?"

"…the Westboro Baptist Church."

She snorted. "I don't think any of those live around here…that I'm aware of…I mean, we're just the rough side of town, everyone knows that and accepts it. If they were going to attack something, I'd think the strip club would be the last thing on their list. But anyway, also, Jehan texts me—the guy from high school, younger brother of the priest you hate so much—"

"Yeah, yeah, go on, what did he say?"

Sighing, she started gesturing with her free hands as if Clopin could actually see her. "Well, he just texts me hey and it gets weird really quickly. Like Jehan spells horribly and then there'd be a text that was grammatically correct and had words that I'm sure Jehan doesn't even _use._ Someone else was obviously texting me too. Or he was really good at faking it. I don't know….either way, the 'other one' said he wasn't Jehan's friend but that he paid him just to talk to me—"

"What?" Clopin cut in, voice slightly higher.

"Yeah, so I just asked if it was Claude. I mean, who else? And then neither of them responded."  
"That…is so creepy. I'm sure it _was _him, the bastard," Clopin muttered in disgust. "So you think he did the other stuff?"

"What? No, no, that's far too juvenile and…I don't know, improper for him," she said, shaking her head.

"Improper? How proper can the guy be if he paid you to have you crawl all over him and pretend to enjoy his company_? Considering who he is_…."

She grimaced a little at this, but found herself defending the man in question. "He's just…really lonely and obviously inexperienced so he doesn't know how to deal with it. He's completely harmless. Not a psycho, trust me. Just a little strange sometimes," she said, desperately wanting to get off the subject.

"You going to visit him again?"  
"No! I have a boyfriend now, I can't do that. With anyone."

"Wait, wait, did you quit?"

"No! I mean, I can't go to someone's house anymore like that, it's so….personal."

"Mm, right, I see your point."

At this, the conversation easily lead to less heavy/awkward subjects and Esmeralda was relieved from thinking about the priest—who, at that very moment, could only pray to be relieved from thinking about her.

/

"How does someone get fired from being a stripper?"

Claude paced in front of the empty fireplace in the den as Quasimodo held a bag of ice against his still swollen arm. As it turned out, it was not broken, but it would certainly hurt for days. Claude prescribed ice and painkillers, but that was all.

Quasimodo was slowly starting to catch onto what was going on, despite the priest's efforts to keep his motivations secret. However, he still wanted to hear it confirmed by his guardian.

"Why are we getting her fired?" he asked cautiously after understanding what Claude kept muttering to himself. Naturally, the sheltered boy had no idea what a stripper was, but it seemed to be said with disdain.

"Her job is….not good. It's wrong. Like stealing. That's all I can say," the priest answered curtly, still pacing.

A moment later, he took in a short, quiet breath, stopping and staring blankly ahead.

"I've got it."

"What, how to get her fired?"

"Hm? No, I haven't figured that out yet, I'm almost certain she'd have to quit on her own, but I have figured out how to see her again…" he muttered excitedly to himself. Eyes widening slightly, he looked back at Quasimodo, quickly adding, "To convince her to quit, of course."

"Of course…."

Eyes gleaming with a dark hope, Claude rushed to the small extra bedroom on the ground floor that served as an office. It was mostly empty, aside from a laptop, a box full of church related files, and a mahogany desk, which was kept spotless. At this desk, the priest dug through each of the drawers frantically until he found a manila envelope and a pen. Then, contrary to his previous quick movements and darting eyes, his gaze focused on the envelope as he carefully wrote across it in a professional manner:

**Mission Donations**

Looking pleased with the result, he took the envelope and turned around to leave, but his path was blocked by a suspicious Quasimodo. He glared at the envelope.

"What are you doing?"

Baring his teeth in agitation, Claude thoughtlessly snarled back, "Why do you have to question every damned thing I do?!"

Quasimodo's stance weakened and he took a step back as if struck. Claude shoved past him and stormed out the door to the garage. The slam shook the house.

/

It was easy enough to find Esmeralda's address. All he had to do was search her phone number and basic records showed up. That trick didn't always work, but luckily for the priest, it did this time.

Her apartment complex was decent enough, he supposed, but the neighborhood surrounding it put it to shame. When he knocked at the door, the worst he expected was that she simply wouldn't be there. But it was worse. Someone opened the door, and it was a man.

But not Phoebus—no, this was a much less striking, scrawny young man who looked up at him with a strangely inviting smile. That was a rare sight to see in this world, Claude thought. Especially when he was supposedly asking for charity.

"Er…ahem, St. Matthew's is doing mission work in Tibet. Would you care to donate?"

Technically, he wasn't lying. At least at the moment, Claude was promising himself that if he did happen to get any money from this, he really would give it to the church.

"Really? St. Matthew's, isn't that the really nice cathedral? Up on the hill?" said the young man, not even bothering to question why someone would ask for charity in a rough neighborhood like this. With a nervous smile, Claude nodded in response to the question.

"Beautiful place. Tibet, you say?"

Again, Claude just nodded. The man looked over him again then grinned.

"I think I may have some money…come inside!"

Frankly, Claude found this a little strange, but he stepped in anyway. Seeing where Esmeralda lived would be extremely useful, after all. Glancing around, his eyes took in the cramped space. The white walls were covered in various posters and hand drawn art, as well as some sort of writing—poems, perhaps. A colorful blanket draped over the small couch, and on the couch was a…goat. A baby one.  
"Is that a goat?" Claude asked, confounded. The odd scrawny man came back with his wallet, handing about seven measly dollars over to the priest, who took it hesitantly and put it in the manila envelope.

"Oh yeah, that's my Djali. Well, mine and my roommate's. Don't tell anyone, we technically can't have pets," he said, holding up a finger to his lips in a gesture to stay quiet. Suddenly, he shook his head as if he'd forgotten something, now holding out his hand.

"Look at me, introducing the goat before myself. I'm Pierre Gringoire."

The priest automatically answered. "Claude Frollo."

Pierre's eyes widened suddenly and Claude instantly felt his stomach cringe, regretting his words dearly.

_Damn it all, you blithering idiot! Why did you say your real name?! It's her roommate, of course he knows about you, you were a weird case!_

Pierre was a horrible actor—his recognition of the name did not go unnoticed whatsoever—but he tried to play it off as if nothing was familiar about this priest at all.

"You know….I've been needing to talk to somebody. Clergy, preferably. I have questions that nobody can answer, you see. Philosophy and such," said Gringoire, pacing back into the kitchen area. "Care for some coffee?"

"Er…no thanks, I'm fine."

Pierre shrugged and began making a cup for himself, babbling on. "You can answer some questions for me, can't you? I admit, I haven't had the time really to go to any church. Well, haven't really thought about going, honestly, I get so caught up in things…but I've been doing a lot of thinking and I just make myself more confused the more I think about it…like you know how we're all supposed to have one great mission in life? I can't figure out what mine is. All I can do is try to find any job that'll keep the bills paid but I know I need more…."

Claude had begun to space out before Pierre had even managed to make his way back to the couch with his coffee. Snuggling up with the goat, Gringoire looked up at Claude expectantly.

"You can sit, you know."

The priest awkwardly settled down across from the man and his goat.

"So what does God want me to do? I don't get how I'm supposed to figure that out…"

_Okay, focus. A man is asking you a serious question….a man who knows exactly who you are because his stripper roommate has obviously told him that she's been giving you lapdances okay FOCUS CLAUDE. Work. Think. Subject at hand. No, not Esmeralda. This…weird little man and his babbling…._

"I'm honestly not sure myself."

It was the best he could come up with. Pathetic.

"Well…_Father, _when did you get the call?" Pierre persisted, not satisfied with the vague answer. Claude winced. He hated being called Father, for one, and the way the man said it could only mean trouble. Gringoire was going to get to worse questions, he knew it….

"Um. I've just always grown up in a faith oriented family….I felt like I wanted to reach people…"

Frankly, how he ended up answering this was complete and utter bullshit. He never had some mystical call. Hell, he never even wanted to be a priest that much. He just had to. Because his parents said so. And honestly, he didn't think he'd be losing much in being one. There were perks to being respected so much, after all.

Gringoire seemed to eat up his explanation with a spoon. But it wasn't the end.

"I guess it should be something selfless that I still love then…hm. Duly noted, Father. Now, the next thing I was wondering was a…bit, uh…touchy. But I really want to know. Okay, I don't have much experience with any religion, but I've always wondered—that is, with the Western religions, the Eastern ones don't seem to mind so much but….what is the deal with sex?"

If Claude had taken that cup of coffee, he would have choked on it.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, Father, I know I put it bluntly, but I mean, why is it such a bad thing? We wouldn't exist without it, I mean—"

Claude cut him off quickly to avoid more ranting. "That in itself is not the problem. Love and….intercourse are not sins under the proper conditions…"

"Yeah but why? Why are there conditions anyway, I mean…marriage was a manmade sort of deal, mostly to keep families from warring and to get a profit for one dad or the other, right? How does it hurt God if we have sex before marriage? I don't get it."

Letting out a shaky sigh, the priest tried to restrain himself from strangling the boy.

"It is how one treats the person. Actual devotion is more guaranteed in the safety of matrimony. Doing anything before that tends to lead to using people as nothing but a means of getting pleasure. A risky means, which usually ends in heartbreak at best, and at worst, diseases or an unwanted child."

"Oh. But two people can love each other and just not want to get married for whatever reason. Is that a sin? Would they go to hell if they did it?"

"I can't speak for God."

"Okay, well then, what about clergy? The celibacy thing. Though that's just Catholicism but still…"

Claude's fists clenched at his sides but he managed to keep a calm expression, even if his blood was boiling beneath the pale surface of his skin.

"What about it?"

"Well, why can you not fall in love and get married like everyone else?"

"We are supposed to be the best examples of faith. Part of that is putting no one before God."

"What about family, though? I mean, I'm not married but I think most people care about their spouse as much as they care about, say, a sibling. Maybe even less."

"We can't help being part of a family."

"But does it get in the way of loving God?"

Thinking of Jehan, Claude shook his head slowly. "No….for me, it intensifies my faith. I try to do good for the sake of my own family—on top of being for the sake of Christ."

Interestedly, Gringoire leaned closer. "How's that?"

"Leading by example…giving a good image…and storing up good works."

"Storing up good works?"

"For my brother. So he's guaranteed into heaven," explained the priest seriously. Pierre's hazel eyes widened, perplexed by this idea.

"So…you do good things…because if he goes wrong and is headed for hell, your bonus points can save him?"

Shooting Pierre a contemptuous look, Claude responded dryly, "That's a simplistic way of saying it, yes."

"Huh. Well, that's an idea I've never heard before…" Pierre mused. "But tell me. If it works that way for your brother, encouraging you to be good, then couldn't it work for a wife?"

The silence was excruciating.

"Because….because women have a way of encouraging one to do wrong."

"That's a bit misogynistic, don't you think?"  
"Well….I mean, maybe it works the same way with men tempting women, it probably does, I wouldn't know personally as I'm not a woman, but you get my point," Claude snapped impatiently, but instantly felt a pang of awkward guilt. "I'm sorry. What I mean is…romantic feelings are more complicated than other relationships. There's misunderstanding, disagreements about…things that don't come up with just family or friends. There's using, leading on, abuse, mere desperation, unrequited love, jealousy…"

"Ah yes, the pains of love," Gringoire mused dreamily. "I still think it's worth it. It brings out the best in me, anyway. A courageous part. Hm. So how do you deal with loneliness?"

"I'm not lonely. One doesn't need a wife or a girlfriend to not be lonely."

"Ah, right, because strippers work just fine."

**AN: I'm so sorry.**


	11. The Poetry of It All

**AN: *insert excuse here that you don't care about* But no, really, I was extremely busy. Sorry I left you with a sort of cliffhanger, but life happened. I really hope this chapter doesn't suck too much.**

**Chapter 11**

"What did you just say to me?"

Gringoire's bold expression faltered at the dangerous tone of the priest, but he mustered up enough courage to commit to his accusation.

"You heard me….Somehow I don't think you just happened upon this apartment either. Nobody ever comes asking for charity in this neighborhood."

It felt as if all the blood in Claude's body had risen to his face as a sickened feeling settled in his gut. He hadn't seen this coming at all. And frankly, he couldn't remember being so rudely spoken to in his life. And now, he found he couldn't speak. But there was little need to worry about the silence. Pierre quickly filled it.

"She's my roommate. You think she wouldn't talk about a supposed man of God using her 'services'?"

"Perhaps not, but I think you'd have enough common sense not to speak to me of things you know nothing about," Claude finally snapped, his words positively venomous as he stood. His eyes stayed furiously fixed on Gringoire only a moment later before he turned to leave.

"Oh I know nothing? Then please, by all means, enlighten me!" Pierre called after him. "It should be an interesting explanation!"

"I'm not wasting my time explaining myself to a total stranger—"

"Is it true it was your brother's idea?"

Claude had no idea why, but he found himself stepping away from the door.

"Yes. It was a very poor practical joke. Nothing more."

"See, that I understand not being your fault—and let's face it, the girl is hot beyond words, I even made a few moves myself…"

The horrified expression on Claude's face both befuddled and amused Gringoire.

"…but I did not get anywhere. I'm not her type."

At this, the other man's broad shoulders seemed to relax subtly.

"But…it wasn't just one time, was it, sir?" Pierre quietly pressed on.

"She should have told you it was just for company. And I felt sorry for her."

Pierre was tempted to laugh. "Company like lap dances and first kisses?"

Beyond agitated, Claude snarled, "If you know everything, why are you asking _me_?"

"I…I just want to know why."

"Why _what_?"

"Why you're doing this. Coming here. I know she hasn't visited you in a while. Do you miss her?"

It took the priest even longer than usual to respond to this. The urge to actually talk to someone about this conflicted with the desperate desire to get out of there as fast as possible.

"I wanted to check up on her. Since I hadn't gotten any word from her in a while. As I said, I pitied her because of her situation. It's not exactly the safest occupation. So I was worried."

Pierre narrowed his eyes and nodded.

"That's very compassionate of you. Now….why don't you tell me why you really came here?"

"I've told you the truth, I don't know what else you want from me."

Gritting his teeth at the obvious denial, Pierre's voice rose slightly. "Weird things have been happening since she stopped seeing you. It's not that hard to think of a pretty obvious suspect."

"That's ridiculous—"

"I'm going to tell her."

The blood that had flushed Claude's face suddenly left it.

"You can't tell her that…"

Gringoire scoffed, now under the poor impression that he was the powerful one here.

"Why, because it's true?"

"Gringoire….please. If she thinks I did any of that, she wouldn't understand-_you_ don't understand."

"I understand you're a straight up psycho."

"I love her."

The silence hung heavily in the air, increasing the already established tension between the two. But before either of them could speak, before Pierre could fully measure the bizarre statement coming from this desperate, pleading man, the door started unlocking. The noise jarred both men into a more "natural" stance—therefore they appeared quite stiff when Esmeralda entered.

As soon as her eyes set on the priest, her body went rigid as well. Claude was nearly to the point of wishing for death in order to avoid whatever horrors were surely about to be brought upon him the moment Gringoire started speaking.

"H-hey, that um…church on the hill—uh, St. Matthew's—is doing missions in Tibet. Did you know?" Pierre blurted out in a painfully awkward stammer.

Esmeralda and Claude stared at him blankly.

"No, I didn't know that," she said slowly.

"Well, I was just donating, since this gentleman here came around to collect…."

At this, Claude quickly raised the donation envelope as proof. The young woman still appeared suspicious, but nodded in understanding.

"Yeah…I just let him in to answer some of my philosophical questions, you know," Pierre babbled on. "But—"

"I was just leaving," said the priest curtly with a slight bow of his head, quickly making his way towards the door. The other two followed him with their eyes. Before he stepped out, he looked at Pierre. "Thank you."

The door closed. Esmeralda glared at Gringoire.

"Donations? In this neighborhood?"

"Yeah! He went around to all the apartments," Gringoire shrugged.

"Did he say his name?"

Pierre looked up as if in deep thought. "No…I don't think….oh, was that _your_ priest?"

"He's not mine, but yes, that was him," she sighed, crossing her arms. "So you just talked about donations and….religious stuff?"

"Yep."

Pierre honestly could not explain what had compelled him to cover for a man he had just met, a man who was most likely on the border of stalking his roommate. But he had gotten the priest to admit something huge. He said he loved her. Now, Gringoire knew just as well as anyone with common sense how little those words mattered from the wrong person. But the way Claude said it…it was like releasing a burden. Some unquestionable truth he had been avoiding. At the very least, the man believed himself to be in love. And why wouldn't he? Esmeralda had apparently been the first woman to get anywhere near that intimate with him. She gave his lonely life some well needed company. Pierre knew better than anybody that the girl was so much more than her beauty, and in the amount of time she had spent with Claude, he must have picked up on that too.

Pierre found it impossible not to at least pity the man for his misguided attempts at dealing with an emotion he had never before experienced. And still, he did not know for sure which things Claude had actually done. Nor why. More information was needed before Pierre could feel justified in ruining another man's chances at what he thought would bring him happiness. It was so very poetic, after all.

_In a tragic, star crossed and slightly creepy sort of way, _thought Pierre just before Esmeralda asked another question.

"So he didn't ask about me?"

If he wanted her to drop the subject, he'd have to be colder than usual.

"No dear, not everything is always about you."

How untrue that seemed to be, lately. _God, I hope I'm not helping a sociopath._


End file.
